


i am no bird; and no net ensnares me

by drippingcandie



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bev is playing matchmaker, Clueless!Stan, Do those two apply when they're friends with benefits? I hope so., Frat Boy!Bill, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Tags will be updated, Underage Drinking, shameless references to classic literature !
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:58:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingcandie/pseuds/drippingcandie
Summary: Stan doesn’t really know about one night stands. Stan really doesn’t know how fast they go or how they’re carried out or what lines are drawn. All Stan knows is that he is incredibly attracted to Bill and Bill is attracted to him.(or Stan doesn't realize exactly what he's getting himself into.)





	1. you are out of my league

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> got my heartbeat racing,  
> if i die don't wake me  
> 'cause you are more   
> than just a dream
> 
> -out of my league by fitz and the tantrums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay everyone! I'm here with my first chaptered fic, which I hope turns out all right. I plan on updating as fast as I can, probably once every three days. I'm not sure what the project is for this work!  
> The title is from Jane Eyre.  
> Here's some things you need to know!  
> 1\. Some people might see issues with consent here (Bill is drunk and Stan is a lil tipsy), but I didn't tag it as such. There's no forcing, coercion, and neither of them are so drunk that their inhibitions are out the window. If I made the wrong call on this, please tell me.  
> 2\. There's some heavy making out and like...undressing. This would've been rated for teens if the sex wasn't implied. There may be some more mature content in later chapters, but I'm comfortable with this rating for now.
> 
> Let the games begin~

Stan has decided that being the dependable friend sucks. It sucks so bad.

 

In high school, Stan would drop everything to help a friend with some homework. If someone needed to borrow his calculator, he’d be pulling it out of his backpack before they could say anything else. One time, one of his friends had forgotten her hairbrush and he had magically made one appear. Another time, a friend of his didn’t know how to sign up for a club, so Stan went straight to the sponsor and signed him up himself.

 

His friends that he has made in his first semester of college are a different breed.

 

He’s not exactly sure how he got wrapped up with Beverly and Richie, who were partiers at heart. They skipped lecture when they were hungover and spent their study sessions outside the library smoking.

 

He feels like he’s designated himself as the babysitter, making sure they don’t get the campus security called on them...or worse. The actual cops.

 

Besides, he’s still the dependable friend. But instead of asking for his homework or needing help talking to a teacher, he’s become the designated driver.

“Stan the man!” Richie is walking up to him in that god awful outfit he always wears. He has a shirt that’s covered in small polka dots on with a flannel thrown on top, the whole thing creating an abhorrent eyesore. His shorts aren’t exactly appropriate for the cold weather outside and leave his banana socks in clear view, as do his holey converse. 

 

Stan looks up at him from his glass of water that he’s been sipping since he’s arrived at this ridiculous frat party.

 

There’s a boy under his arm.

 

“I don’t need a good ole escort back to the dorm tonight, Stanny boy.” Richie says far too loudly, obviously trying to make up for the sound of the bass heavy music.

 

The boy under his arm, who Stan notices is wearing a fanny pack, blushes. He was a cute guy and Stan is wondering how Richie Tozier and his trashmouth sweet talked him into spending more than five seconds in his presence.

 

Before Stan can nod that he got the message, Richie is pressing a sloppy kiss to Stan’s cheek before disappearing back into the crowd. He’s probably going upstairs with that boy, it’s only safe to assume.

 

The party was crowded, taking place at the large plantation style house that sat only five minutes away from the main campus. Stan wasn’t uncomfortable necessarily, it’s just that he’s heard things about this frat house. Just rumors, nothing set in stone. But reputation always seems to be correct on the college’s campus.

 

So Stan was avoiding...the whole party part of the evening. He was leaning against a wall near the exist just to make sure Bev or Richie didn’t escape in some sort of drunken haze. He had a clear view of the stairwell that led up to where he assumed the house’s residents slept. 

 

He knew nothing about fraternities.

 

Stan did know that he had never seen so much beer in his whole entire life. He had opted for water, but he assumes he’s one of the only people here that did. He finishes off what’s left in his cup when he sees feet going up in the air and out of pure curiosity, he joins the crowd that’s forming around the keg.

 

The whole room smells like the epitome of college. Beer, sweat, and some kind of wild tension that thrums with the bass in the speakers.

 

The people around him are counting the seconds the boy is able to stay up on the keg stand. Stan gets a little sick just trying to imagine how much beer that guy is ingesting right now. It feels incredibly warm due to all the body heat so he takes a sip of his water, trying to back out of the crowd while still watching the spectacle. 

 

The boy starts kicking his legs when the crowd is somewhere around the number thirty. Stan assumes that’s where the chanting would stop, and since the show is over he starts to head to the kitchen for more water.

 

“Big Bill! Big Bill”

 

It’s hard to tear his eyes away though. The boy has this kind of energy that seems very….not trustworthy. But it draws him in none the less. And Stan cannot deny the fact that he’s attractive. He imagines ‘Big Bill’ must stand at at least six feet tall, and his sweaty baseball tee clings to him enough to see that he is lean and muscular. He’s high fiving one of his spotters and pulling some girl under his arm

 

Stan refuses to get mixed up with boys like those, the straight kind, so he heads back to the kitchen.

 

\-------------------------------

 

That’s where Stan ends up spending most of his night. He glances over at the clock and dully notes that it’s 11. Luckily it’s a Saturday and he had already gotten most of his readings done for the next week. Bev should be partied out soon, or maybe she would take the same way out as Richie.

 

“Stanley!”

 

Think of the devil and she will appear.

 

Bev hangs off his shoulder as he leans against the counter, the cup from earlier in the night still not leaving his hand. She doesn’t seem too drunk, he’s definitely seen here way worse, but he can smell the beer on her breath just from their proximity.

 

“Bev.” He says shortly.

 

“What’re you doing in here? Have you been here all night? Oh my god, come out to the living room-” After that, Stan kind of cuts her out. She can be a chatty drunk on occasion. He knows that her intentions are good, but he still stands his ground when she tries to drag him away.

 

“C’mon Stan!” She whines. “I want you to meet someone.” She has a mischievous glint in her eye and Stan wants to snatch back his thought about good intentions. She probably saw a cute girl or guy that she thought Stan might be interested in, but he seemed to have the worst luck when it came to these things. 

 

Stan stands his ground though and Beverly just pouts. “Fine!” She huffs. “I’ll go get him myself.” Bev turns on the heel of her boot, albeit wobbly, and leaves the kitchen as quick as she came. He watches as her red pixie cut bobs and her overalls fall off her shoulders. She had muttered something that Stan could pick up.  _ Ungrateful, stubborn-  _

 

He knows that she doesn’t mean it. If anyone but Bev had said those words, he would be upset, and so would Bev. She’d probably take a bullet for him, and if not a bullet, then a punch.

 

Stan also assumes that she’s not coming back, so he lifts himself up onto the marble counter and lets his legs dangle off the edge. Bev was forgetful when sober, so he imagines she’s already found something else to do besides play a sad game of matchmaker.

 

She didn’t.

 

It’s only a few minutes later when Bev, in her angelic glory, with a boy in tow.

 

Not any boy, no. The hypermasculine, snapback wearing, baseball tee clad, keg stand participant from only an hour or two ago. The one that had his arms around some girl only moments prior.

 

“Stan!” She had caught sight of him, previously looking around the room as if he would’ve moved from his incredibly comfy spot on the counter. Her eyes lit up with that mischief again.

 

“Bev.” His voice was much quieter and had a hint of warning in it. 

 

“This-” She does a little hop on the spot and pulls the boy closer to her, presenting him like it was show and tell back in grade school. “Is Bill.”

 

Stan feels a little self conscious, knowing that he’s wearing khaki shorts and a damn polo to a frat party. In his defense, he had given up hope on the whole dating in college ordeal and was just playing the mom friend. An important role that should not be left to just anyone.

 

But what exactly did Stan have to be self conscious about? This guy, whose face was flushed from all the alcohol he had been drinking, was just another person partying his way through college. It was hard not to feel a tad bit superior (in an academic sense, this boy had him beat aesthetically) when standing in front of him.

 

“Big Bill.” He feels himself smirking. Fake it until you make it, the voice in the back of his head said. “I’ve heard.”

 

Bill himself looks like he had been having the wildest night of his life. Stan can tell that he’s trying to catch his breath, probably just from the sheer speed that Bev was going. And he looks...embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at his feet.

 

Stan didn’t know that people like him could ever feel embarrassed

 

“Ye-yeah.” A stutter. Cute. “That’s what they ca-call me.”

 

“Well anyway,” Bev presses her hands on the lower part of Bill’s back, pushing him awkwardly so that he was practically standing between Stan’s legs, who still was safely up on the counter. “I’m going to get back to your friend Ben, alright Bill? You two have fun!” 

 

Stan starts to think that the name Ben sounds familiar, maybe in passing, but he’s sure he’s never met the guy. Bev has crushes, lots of them. He’s pretty sure she can fall in love in five minutes.

 

“She’s going to break that boy’s heart.” And he doesn’t realize he said it out loud.

 

Bill takes a small step back so he can actually see Stan’s face and is no longer invading his personal space. How he carried himself seemed so confident, Stan noted, as he leaned forward with his arm on the counter.

 

“Ben,” Bill says slowly. He never heard anyone talk so slow in his entire life. “Is a hopeless-” He pauses again and hiccups, covering his mouth. Stan wants to tell him to spit it out. “Romantic. So you’re probably right…”

 

Bill looks up at him, ending his phrase in a question, trying to be smooth.

 

“Stan.” Although he knows Bev has told this Big Bill character his name at least fifteen times in the past five minutes. “You know, you don’t have to talk to me just because Beverly guilt tripped you or whatever. You’re a free man.”

 

“I know.” Bill swipes the cup out of Stan’s hand and takes a sip. His face scrunches up in surprise. “Water?”

 

“You’ll be wishing you were drinking the same by tomorrow morning.” Stan quips back. He doesn’t miss the way Bill’s face breaks out into a grin. 

 

“I’m going to make you a real drink.” Bill mutters, starting to go through the cabinets around them as if he owns the place. Stan supposes he does partially, if he actually lives here. All signs point to yes.

 

“You don’t have to. I’m designated dri-”

 

“Bev said she wouldn’t be going home tonight.” His slow voice is driving Stan insane, and he’s not sure if it’s in a good or bad way exactly.

 

“Well, isn’t that peachy.”

 

“Do you not like my company?” Bill takes a sip of whatever he’s mixed up in the glass, nodding to himself in approval, before handing it over to Stanley. 

 

“I never said that.” Stan muttered, kicking his feet against the cabinet, taking a sip of whatever Bill had concocted. He would’ve been skeptical to take a drink from a stranger in a frat house that had rumors of a ‘roofie room’, but Bill had taken a drink of it himself so he couldn’t refuse.

 

Bill isn’t predatory when he speaks again. In fact, he sees the same mischief in his eyes as he sees in Bev’s. It makes his stomach do a little flip. The good kind.

 

“Good, ‘ca-cause you’re stuck with me, pretty boy.”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

“Oh fuck.” 

 

Stan tripped over the top step of the staircase, trying to keep up with Bill. It’s two in the morning, he thinks idly, remember the green glowing numbers on the stove when Bill had hastily pressed their mouths together.

 

“Are yo-you okay?” Bill says, worry setting into his features.

 

So Stan had a few drinks. He wasn’t clumsy. They were just rushing was all. And after all, talking to Bill had been fun. They had this witty banter back and forth and Bill had called him pretty. And Bill was obviously very interested in him and he was interested in Bill so it was like...fate, if Stanley believed in it.

 

Thank god for Beverly Marsh.

 

“‘M fine.” He said as Bill led him farther and farther down the hall. Bill smiled, god he did that a lot, and started fumbling around in his pockets as they continued. His eyes lit up when there was a small jangling noise and Stan assumed that he must have found the keys.

 

Bill stops in front of some door, probably his room, and begins fumbling with the aforementioned keys. “I lo-lock it so no o-one else comes in.” Bill rushes out. Stanley tries not to snort because why else would anybody lock a door?

 

“Are you co-coming in?” Bill says, standing in the dark room, light from the hallways casting a glow on his face.

 

Stan realizes he’s not even really paying attention. He’s so focused on...he doesn’t know exactly what he’s focused on, but the excitement thrummed through him nonetheless. He nods, stumbling into the darkness after the other boy.

 

“Yo-you’re cute, y’know that?” Bill grins as he closes the door behind Stan, bracketing the other boy against it.

 

“Shut up,  _ Big Bill _ .” Stan says it mockingly, somehow managing to pull Bill closer. 

 

Bill doesn’t say anything and Stan likes that, someone listening to him for once. He feels Bill’s fingers make quick work on the buttons of his polo, sneakily snaking his underneath to rest on Stan’s stomach.

 

Fuck, his hands were cold. Before Stan could complain though, Bill was slotting their mouths together in a searing hot kiss. “You know,” Bill’s talking again and his lips are  ghosting over Stan’s cheek. “I’ve always thought you were kind of cute.”

 

“Wh-what do you mean?” Stan catches himself stuttering over his own words.

 

“We’ve g-got Professor Klein, y-you sit up front.” And yes, Stan knows exactly where he sits in his own history class, but he had never even seen Bill there.

 

So Stan doesn’t say anything. Just lets Bill call him cute again, blushes, kisses him to shut him up, and the cycle happens all over again. There’s nothing about it that’s slow or steady, even if it feels like it lasts an eternity. 

 

It’s when Bill has his lips latched onto his neck that Stan feels fingers fumbling with the button on his pants. 

 

Stan doesn’t really know about one night stands. Stan really doesn’t know how fast they go or how they’re carried out or what lines are drawn. All Stan knows is that he is incredibly attracted to Bill and Bill is attracted to him, although Stan doesn’t take into account the alcohol that’s running through Bill’s system.

 

It makes him do a double take just for a moment, but Bill is leading the way. Bill said he was cute, Bill said he had always thought he was cute. Stan didn’t even know this boy existed until tonight.

 

So when his pants are taken off and Bill leads him to bed, Stan has no complaints.


	2. i'm mr. know it all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> afraid of what i'd say  
> hello, hello, hello  
> i'm mr. know-it-all  
> \--mr. know it all by the young and the giant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:  
> Not much. Just some good ole sexual humor.

Stan wakes up in the morning with a lot of complaints.

There’s a headache creeping up on him and while it’s not pounding, it still fucking hurts. There’s an ache in his lower back and a crick in his neck from how he slept. He’s not wearing pajamas and it’s cold as fuck.

 

He’s not wearing pajamas.

 

Stanley Uris has worn pajamas to bed every night for the past eighteen years of his life. And his sheets have never been red. He expects something. Like panic or regret. Something akin to that should be flooding his chest at the moment and choking him, but it never came.

 

Stan isn’t an idiot. He knows full well what he did last night in Bill’s...God, he didn’t even know this boy’s last name, bed. He knows full well that they fucked. But what he doesn’t know is what exactly he should being doing next.

 

Is it bad that he doesn’t think he could confront Bill if he stayed?

 

He thinks it’s natural. Looking over at the boy sleeping soundly next to him, Stan feels worry well in his stomach. Bill is snoring softly, hair mused, looking absolutely peaceful. Stan tentatively reaches a hand out to push some of the boy’s hair away from his face and Bill lets out a breathy huff.

 

It’s Sunday, Stan thinks idly. He sits up slowly and takes in the room around him. It’s not what he’s expecting from someone like Bill. Not at all.

 

He can see the desk from here and what looks to be art supplies. Oil paints and water colors. A corkboard hangs above it with what looks to be polaroids, notes, and brochures. Maybe a few concert tickets, but Stan can’t tell from his place on the bed. He notices a typewriter on the desk too, where he expects most guys in this house would keep their pristine laptops.

 

A few of what looks to be his art pieces are hung up on the walls, some framed and some not. There’s a bookshelf near the door that looks like it’s filled with novels, some that Stan can recognize the title of. Like _Interview With a Vampire_ by Anne Rice. _Evil is always possible. And goodness is eternally difficult._ Stan remembers reading it only a few years ago.

 

Stan lets out a soft chuff when he sees that Jane Austen’s _Sense and Sensibility_ is sitting right next to it.

 

He expected sports posters and strewn out clothes. He expected Bill to be a messy, stereotypical college boy. He feels like he’s looking in on the life of a boy he’s never met, a boy who didn’t ask him to criticize. A boy who brought him up to his room to have sex, not a thorough psychoanalysis based on the contents of his bookshelf.

 

The snap judgement makes Stan feel ill.

 

Bill rolls over and Stan goes rigid, never having left his spot on the bed. “Stan?” He grumbles, hand reaching out. “‘s that you?” His voice is scratchy and slow from sleep, paired with a groan from what must be a terrible hangover.

 

“Mhm.” Stan says noncommittally, eyebrows furrowing. He brushes Bill’s hair out of his face again and sees the smile that subtly graces the other boy’s features.

 

He waits for a few minutes, tense and on edge. He doesn’t want to wake Bill up again and with that little moment, he wonders if Bill is a light sleeper. He wonders if he will get out of here without real confrontation with a fully awake and aware Bill.

 

Finally, as if it was meant to be, Bill begins snoring again.

 

Stan slips out of the covers and finds his boxers and khakis on the floor not too far away. His polo was closer to the door. He picks them all up and hurriedly throws everything on, toeing on his shoes and buckling his belt.

 

He takes one last look at Bill, who doesn’t even seem to move when he hears his door creak open. Yeah, Stan thinks. One night stands aren’t a good thing. So they shouldn’t feel too good either. Karma and shit.

 

Stan takes his walk of shame with his head down. Stepping outside makes him breathe a sigh of relief, only to realize that he regrets not bringing a jacket. _A ho never gets cold, Stanley!_ Richie had told him. He snorts, a small noise under his breath.

 

He looks at the big white column and the cold insignia on the front door.

 

He does a little prayer. _Hopefully Richie and Bev want to lay low for a bit. Oh God, let them want to lay low for a bit._

 

* * *

 

 

Richie and Bev did not want to lay low at all.

 

“Stanley!” Bev had waltzed into Stan’s dorm, leaving the door wide open for Richie to jovially stride in after her. It was times like these that Stan was glad his roommate had moved out halfway through the semester, consequently leaving the whole room to him.

 

She had somehow cleaned up nicely from the time she had woken up to, Stan glanced at his watch, 1 in the afternoon. The usual smudged eyeliner look was nowhere to be seen and she seemed to have changed from last night.

As she pressed a kiss on his cheek (why did his friends always do that again?) he noticed that Richie...was looking quite unfortunate. From Stan’s spot at his desk, it was easy to see that in one night Richie’s hair had gone from decent to looking like it hadn’t been brushed in a week. He had a huge ass hickey on the side of his neck and from his low cut shirt, Stan could see that a trail of them led down his chest. He somehow gained another layer from the last time they had been face to face, adding a ratty old Hawaiian shirt to the trainwreck that was Richie’s fashion sense. Not to mention-

 

“Are you wearing two different shoes?” Stan said, carefully placing his bookmark in his book, looking at Richie incredulously.

 

“That is a funny story.” Richie plopped down on Stan’s pristinely made bed without even looking at the one white sneaker and the ratty old converse that were tied to his feet , stretching out languidly. It reminded Stan of a cat. An incredibly annoying, cursed, yowling cat who was getting dirt on his sheets.

 

“It’s not all that funny.” Bev chimed, opting for a spot on floor, leaning against Stan’s dresser. Her fingers started picking at the carpet, at dirt that Stan knew was not there. He was tempted to tell her to stop, but it seemed harmless so he let her continue.

 

“You know the fine little number I picked up las-”

 

“Richard!” Bev tutted. “His name was Eddie. You can’t just say-”

 

“Ah, but I can. Anyway, Eddie Spaghetti-” Stan didn’t grin at his friends’ bickering, but he did find himself sniggering at the nickname. “Is like pint size, y’know?” Richie held his hand over the side of the bed about three feet off the ground. “But his feet? Same size as mine.  Huge. Completely unproportional to the rest of him. And you know what they say about big feet.” He propped himself up on the pillows, waggling his eyebrows.

 

“No. I don’t.” Stan said, spinning back around in his chair towards his book. “Please enlighten me.” He thumbed the edge of one of the pages, finding himself rolling his eyes even though his friends couldn’t see his face.

 

“It means he’s got a really big dick.” Richie said bluntly.

 

Bev was wheezing, holding a hand delicately to her chest as if she was actually a well mannered women who had never heard such things. “Are you saying that you-that you- Oh my God!”

 

“Yeah,” Richie said breezily. Stan turned around, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He wasn’t exactly following this conversation too much. “Woah, look at the gears turning in Stan the Man’s head! It’s no riddle, I’m just saying I’m quite the receiver. Like if we were playing catch, I would’ve been the gl-”

 

“Beep beep Richie!” Stan had never heard Bev say it so fast in her life. “Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.” With every beep her volume rose and he was resisting the urge to cover his own ears.

 

“Okay.” Richie said, not even putting up a fight. He rolled over to make eye contact with his friend at the desk. “How about you, Stanny boy? How was the rest of your night?”

 

“Bet he played a wicked game of catc-”

 

“Bev!” Stan didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence, even though she had practically made it there already.

 

“I told you he was a nice boy.” Bev said, biting her thumb and hiding her grin as if it was her own personal victory. That was the thing with her. She always had to play matchmaker. Somebody always had to be with somebody. Under the eye of Beverly Marsh, no one would be the lone wolf and absolutely no one would be going solo.

 

“You didn’t _tell_ me he was a nice boy, Beverly. All you told me was his name.” Stan huffed in annoyance, reaching for his coffee mug. He knew he should probably be drinking water, but black coffee sent a pleasant shock to his tired system. “I had to find out the nice part all by myself.”

 

“Wait. Stan actually hooked up with someone? I was just joking.” Richie flew up from his position on the bed, wild curls fanning out around him. “And you had to find out that he was nice? So what, you actually talked to the guy?”

 

This had turned into an interrogation too quick for Stan’s liking. Closing his eyes, he rests his hands on his thighs and takes a breath.

 

“His name was Bill, and he was drunk. So drunk I don’t even think he remembered his own last name, okay? He’s majoring in English...or Journalism. Or something equally useless, but that’s none of my business. He reads Jane Austen and owns a typewriter, and I guess if this was a game of catch-” Stan screws his eyes shut, knowing Richie will tease him. “I was the glove.”

 

“Aha!” Richie yelled out at the same time Bev groaned. “Bev, you owe me ten bucks!”

 

Stanley watched, absolutely flabbergasted as Beverly pulled out her wallet and handed Richie a crinkled dollar bill. “What do you mean she owes you ten bucks!” He felt his voice rise, not yelling, but almost reaching that volume.

 

“I hooked you up with literally the twinkiest guy I know, Stan. You really let me down.” Bev feigned disappointment, but a small smile could be seen shining through the cracks.

 

Stan, however, was not in a lighthearted mood. He threw down his book exasperatedly. “He was not a twink!” He said defensively.

 

“I don’t think Bevvy would’ve set you up with a bear, Stan.” Richie went to his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Stan shot him a look that said something along the lines of _If you light one, I’ll kill you._ “Maybe he was somewhere right in the middle.”

 

Stan doesn’t even know why he’s friends with them. He really doesn’t. He should’ve just found some friends that were also freshman instead of somehow gravitating towards the two most infuriating but caring sophomores that the University of Maine had to offer.

 

“Do you even know how gay culture works, Richie? My god, you are such a fucking disgrace, I can’t believe I gave you guys a key to this damn dorm.” Stan put his hands to his temples in an attempt to make the approaching headache more manageable.

 

“I’m actually bi, so maybe I don’t.” Richie snorted.

 

“That’s exactly how it works, Stanley. Like a twink with more muscle. A twunk.” Bev piped in.

 

“If he was a twink then what am I?” Stan probably shouldn’t be picking this fight.

 

And it was true, because Bill had some differences. He had assets that Stan didn’t have. Like how he actually had defined muscles, albeit not being large. He was confident, but maybe that was the alcohol. Stan was starting to wonder if this battle was a lost cause.

 

“Miss Marsh,” Richie began in his horrible English Gentleman voice. “Is there anything twinkier than a twink?”

 

“I’m not sure.” She tutted, tapping her chin. “I’m just glad someone finally removed the stick that was stuck up Stan’s ass.”

 

In the end, when Stan pushed them out the door, he had a far worse headache than he had had before they decided to show up.


	3. some things don't work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i think i left my conscience  
> on your front doorstep.  
> wait a minute,  
> i think i left my consciousness  
> in the sixth dimension.  
> \--wait a minute by willow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Anti-antisemitism.

On Monday, Stan wonders if he’s ever going to live down Saturday night.

 

It’s not that he had any actual issues with Bill, last name still unknown. In fact, it was Richie and Bev that were making things difficult. He’s not sure why he’s surprised since that is their whole act. Without being difficult, he’s not sure what the two idiots would have left. But he loves them, so he puts up with it.

 

“So, are you going to talk to him?” Richie was terrible at whispering. It was obvious as he indiscreetly leaned over and tried to talk to Stan over the table. Bev was also sitting across from Stan, legs propped up on the table while she blew a bubble with her disgusting watermelon gum.

 

“Talk to who, Richard?” Stan said as he organized his stack of reading material in alphabetical order. Psychology was not going to kick his ass this semester like AP Psych had kicked his ass in high school. The idea that nothing about psychology was set in stone really messed with his head.

 

“William, of course.” Richie didn’t have one book. Hell, his laptop wasn’t even open.

 

“I think he should.” Bev chimed in, flipping the pages of her history textbook. At least she was pretending to read.

 

“We’re in a library, so can you two please shut it?” Stan huffed, going to dig through his bag for his laptop. Now that all of his reading supplements were in order, he could actually start to create an outline for this incredibly vague research paper.

 

“You know,” Richie was talking to Bev now, as if Stanley wasn’t right here. “It’s like this boy didn’t go through O week before this semester started. Remember the good ole days, Bevvy? Getting shown around the library and learning you can talk on the first floor?”

 

“Yeah, maybe someone should’ve reserved a room if they were going to need to focus.” Bev didn’t even glance up from her book.

 

Stan goes to pick one up but instead, he folds his hands in front of him and leans in real close. “Listen closely. I am not, repeat, not going to talk to Bill again. I don’t even know his full name.” He didn’t exactly want to figure it out either.  “Aren’t you guys professionals at this one night stand thing? Isn’t the key term one night?”

 

“Yeah, Stan, but sometimes they can be more.” Bev says, sticking her thumb in her book and taking her feet off the table. Stan can see the scuff marks that her untied combat boots left in their wake.

 

Richie has his head on the desk in front of him now, muffling the lewd and suggestive moans that are coming out of his mouth. “Bill! Bill! The love of my life, Bill!” He yelps and sits straight up when Stan kicks him in the shin.

 

“We’re still in a public place, asshole.” Stan snuffs as if that would deter Richie at all. “It’s just awkward, okay?”

 

At this point, Bev had lost complete interest in her book and wasn’t even holding her place in it anymore. She leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands. “How so?”

 

“Well,” Stan rubs the back of his neck. God, he is so bad at talking about this sort of thing. He wasn’t cut out for socializing, he was sure of it. “I haven’t talked to him since y’know…” Bev looks at him like he’s stating the obvious. “No! Like I didn’t say anything to him the-”

 

Richie’s face starts to break out into a grin ever so slowly. “We’ve got a hit and run!” He says all too loudly. Stan wants to reach across the table and smack him, because damn. How many times can you tell one person to shut up?

 

Bev is hiding her small smile behind her equally small hands. “You didn’t!” She sounded slightly scandalized.

 

“He totally did.”

 

“I didn’t mean too!” He said defensively, logging into his laptop so he no longer had to make eye contact with the two fools that were sitting across from him. “It just kind of… happened.”

 

“And what exactly does that mean?” Without looking, he could tell Richie was leaning in closer, mostly due to the scent of cigarette smoke that could often be associated with the hooligan.

 

Hooligan. God, he was starting to sound like his father.

 

“It means I am terribly scared of confrontation and I had never exactly been in that situation before.” He can’t remember the last time he had panicked like that and made such a snap decision. It really fucked with his whole rhythm.

 

“Your first college hookup?” Richie reached over and pinched Stan’s cheek, never being one to respect personal space. “He’s growing up so fast dear, just look at him! Next thing you know he’ll be participating in a full blown orgy.”

 

“It was not my first college hookup.” He seems to always be so defensive about this topic, but he knows he doesn’t have anything to prove. “I’ve had plenty, I’m just usually kicked to the curb a lot faster.”

 

Richie leaned in as if to scrutinize him. “I don’t think we nurtured him enough as a youngin, Bev. He’s got abandonment issues.” 

 

“I’m leaving.” Stan shortly, beginning to stuff his research back into his crumpled and weathered messenger bag. He was not going to sit here and be teased while he was trying to be productive. Richie had a way of egging him on until his already irritable self became far more irritable. It truly was a gift.

 

“Denbrough.” Bev popped her gum, eyes still not wandering from what must be some sort of fascinating passage in her book.

 

Stan had already stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder and pushing his chair in. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

 

“His last name is Denbrough. Left you wondering long enough.” She peeks up at him through the red hair that is partially covering her face.”I told you I knew him.”

 

Stan feels heat rising to his cheeks but he blames the flush on how cold the library is.

 

* * *

 

The issue, which Stan refused to call an actual, seemed to follow him around. He’s starting to wonder if it’s like karma even though he doesn’t believe in it. Like some kind of curse disguised poorly as a blessing.

 

He doesn’t expect to see Bill, who’s last name he now knows, Denbrough around anytime soon. If he had it his way, he wouldn’t ever see him again. It’d be awkward and just thinking about it makes his anxiety spike a considerable amount. The interaction would probably seemed very forced on his end or, worst case scenario, he’d act like some sort of teenage girl with a stupid crush.

 

He’s not a stupid teenager girl with a crush.

 

But when he sees Bill Denbrough walking towards the student center, he finds himself blushing.

 

It’s not that it was fate or anything. None of this had to do with fate. Stan was just passing out fliers for the Jewish Student Union, rather reluctantly due to the fact that he had so much work to do otherwise. Some girl, he thinks her name is Patty, roped him into it and she seemed to be so nice. So nice that Stan couldn’t say no.

 

He feels embarrassed to even be standing here. Talking to strangers has never been his strong suit.

 

Spending hours trying to pass out fliers and getting rejected is not fun. He’s not as assertive as Patty is, not as social or willing to talk to anybody, so he stays and hands out the papers more passively.

 

“Hello!” He hears Patty chatter along as another girl walks through the automatic doors. She walks right past Patty, not even bothering to even make eye contact with the curly haired girl. “Have you heard of our can drive for Yom Kippur?” She waves the flier above her head fruitlessly. 

 

Neither of them acknowledge the fact that they can make out the word ‘kikes’ falling from her lips as she walks towards the bookstore. 

 

Stan hangs his head. Flyering sucks. It sucks almost as much as being the dependable friend.

 

“Hello,” Patty says again, this time talking to a pair as she stands right next to Stan. One of the girls takes the flier with very little interest, but she looks to hesitant to walk away from chattering Patty. “We’re from the Jewish Student Union and we’d love to tell you about our can drive…”

 

Stan kind of zones out after that, but could anyone really blame him? Patty was extremely good at what she did. He’s just there for moral support in a sort of way, if he could even call it that as he found himself staring out the window.

 

Bill is talking to some girl that Stan doesn’t know, but there are a lot of those. It’s a big campus. He’s smiling at her and even from here he can see how his eyes crinkle. And his hair is ruffled from the cold September air.

 

After a few moments, he’s not sure he’s even focused on Bill anymore. Just the overall concept of him is very...distracting.

 

“Stanley.” Patty says, shaking him out of whatever headspace he was in. She was tugging on his sweater vest, touching him, and he resisted the urge to tell her to not do that. Who touches someone when they’re practically a stranger? “I’m going to the restroom. You’ve got this under control!” It’s not a question.

 

He watches her walk across the student center, away from their poorly set up table. Now he was alone. 

 

Well, not really, because Bill Denbrough must’ve finally thought that the September air was too cold or the girl that he was talking to was far too boring (which Stan found unlikely) and decided to head inside.

 

Stan felt his stomach flip when he saw him. His grip on the fliers became tighter and his feet suddenly felt heavy. Even though Bill was looking down at his phone, hair flopping into his field of vision and not being all that attentive, it made Stan’s heart do a little junp. At this point, every single organ in his body was betraying him.

 

“Hello!” He realized that Patty had left him with an actual job, but the greeting still came out to fast and he could hear his voice cracking like a prepubescent teenager boy. God, that was embarrassing. Everything after that came out like a script. “Have you heard of the Jewish Student Union and our can drive for-”

 

“Stan?” Bill looks up from his phone for a moment quizzically and Stan suddenly feels embarrassed.

 

“Yom Kippur.” Stan finishes lamely. 

 

Bill takes the flier from his hand and Stan watches as his eyes scan over it quickly. He tries not to think about the way his eyelashes cast shadows over his cheekbones and...were those freckles? It’s in that moment that Stan feels incredibly small even though Bill must only be an inch or two taller than him. 

 

This was not some high school crush. It wasn’t his fault that Bill was conventionally attractive. 

 

“Stan.” This time it’s not a question.

 

“Hm?” He hums, albeit somewhat noncommittally. He tries to make eye contact but it’s fleeting and his eyes go back to scanning the fliers even though he knows exactly what they say.

 

Bill looks like he’s about to huff at him, maybe make some snarky remark. The look only is on his face for a moment, but guilt hits Stan like a train again. It’s instead replaced with a smile that has some sort of...intent. Now a genuinely sweet smile. Maybe almost a smirk.

 

He’s not sure what he expects Bill to say. This is exactly what Stan knew would happen, what he warned Richie and Bev about. This was all Bev’s fault, this whole ordeal, Stan thinks bitterly. Even though he knows it’s not. Even though, in the back of his head, he knows getting out of Bill’s bed that morning without waking him up was his fault.

 

It’s his fault that he got wrapped up with Bill Denbrough, and now he would have to untangle himself from this mess as fast as he could.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Is all Bill says with a look that reminds him of Bev’s mischievous smile. Stan’s stomach did another flip. Tomorrow? 

 

History. History at 9 a.m. He had forgotten.

 

“Ye-yeah.” Not so smooth now, Stan thought bitterly, no longer have a script to follow. “See you tomorrow.”

 

He watches as Bill walks away with some sort of confidence that Stan wishes he could possess. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. He watches as Bill folds up the flier and stick it in the side pocket of his bag, instead of in the trash can that he walks by with the dozen of others.

 

Tomorrow.

 

“Stan?” Patty is back and Stan finally stops staring. “Who was that?” She sounds concerned and guilt continues to waft in the back of his brain.

 

“No one, Patty.” He mutters, but puts on a small smile for the people walking through the door.


	4. things have changed for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and that's okay  
> i feel the same  
> i'm on my way  
> \--that green gentleman by panic! at the disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no trigger warnings for this chapter that I'm aware of, but it does talk about how Stan is very particular about some things! Nothing triggering though.
> 
> Plus, Mike and Eddie join the party (albeit briefly) and Bill is....eh, he'll be better later. I swear!
> 
> This update was long overdue, so enjoy!

It’s Tuesday now and Stan has spent far too long worrying. 

 

Every about today had felt strange and he was anxious, even though his routine had gone normally.

He had woken up at 6:45 just like he did every day. He got up, stretched for five minutes, then proceeded to change out of his pajamas. He picked the first thing out the was hanging in his closet because he liked to cycle through his outfits in a certain order and they were organized as such. He went to his drawers and picked out a pair of clean white socks. He spent ten minutes in the bathroom flossing and brushing his teeth. 

 

At 7:30, he went down to the dining room that was on the first floor of his residential hall, scanned his card for his meal, and ate his eggs and toast peacefully. He was always pretty appreciative that they had plain black coffee.

 

After breakfast, he had went back up to his dorm room and began to get his stuff together for class. It usually took him about fifteen minutes, which gave him fifteen minutes to walk to his 9 AM, just in time to be thirty minutes early.

 

It was a good routine. He liked it.

 

But ever since he had ran into Bill yesterday, he had been on edge. The mischievous look. Someone in his life always had to be wearing it and at that moment? It was Bill. What could he possibly have up his sleeve for a 9 AM?

 

The walk across campus was a cold one, even with his multiple layers (polo, sweater vest, peacoat, scarf, and a hat sitting atop his curls, put on in that order). He felt his fingers nervously twitch as he thought about yesterday’s events. He shoved them in his pockets and convinced himself it was from the cold September morning.

The thing he has to remember about Bill, Stan realizes, is that he’s just some frat boy. He thinks back to the party and the difference between that night and yesterday. Alcohol, of course, but Stan had barely even had two drinks.  _ Just another kid partying through highschool _ , Stan had thought when he first met the other boy. Then he had called him by that stupid nickname and watched as Bill’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

 

So that’s what he had to do, he realized as he opened the door to his 9 AM lecture. Confidence was key when it came to dealing with the likes of Bill Denbrough.  _ Fake it until you make it. _

Stan thought it would be simple, but it was easier said than done as he strolled in thirty minutes early, usually the only one there. In the front row, someone was sitting down. In his seat. And he knew exactly who it was.

 

“Bill.” Stan said, a little too short as he found himself holding back the urge to grind his teeth. He would not let Bill get to him, he would not. That was obviously the other boys intention, because Stan could see the smile playing across his features.

 

“Stan.” He said, although it was rather playful and not as agitated as Stan’s greeting. “How’s it going?” He only looks up from his sketchbook for a split moment to look up at Stan, who’s hands were in fists by his sides.

 

He wants to say that it’s his seat, that he has sat there every class for the past month. He doesn’t stray from routine. But this is college, he’s a big boy. He can’t just yell at some boy because he’s in Stan’s seat. His mother’s voice is dragged to the front of his brain.  _ Sometimes things don’t go the way we plan them, Stanley.  _

 

So instead of snarking at Bill to get out of his seat, or crying, or yelling, he sits down right next to this abhorrent boy. He watches as the tension in Bill’s frame fades away as if Stan sitting next to him was some personal victory.

 

“It’s going fine.” And Stan’s voice doesn’t sound forced or short, instead it sounds foreign to his ears. His voice sounds smooth. He’s faking it.

 

As he pulls out his notebook and various writing utensils, he realizes that yeah, he can fake this. He will not give Bill Denbrough the satisfaction of watching him struggle to deal with a tough situation. Bill Denbrough won’t be taking Stan by surprise anytime-

 

“That’s good.” Bill hums noncommittally. “Would you wanna come over and study tonight?” 

 

Soon.

 

Bill Denbrough wouldn’t be taking Stan by surprise anytime soon.

 

Stan was wrong, a lot more than he would like to admit, when it came to people like Bill Denbrough apparently. His brain is trying to keep up with his mouth at the moment.

 

“Yeah, I’d love to.” He says, as more people begin to show up, 9 AM approaching faster than he realized. Had it really been fifteen minutes already? “No need to tell me where your room is, I remember.”

 

That comment seemed to catch Bill off guard, Stan could tell because he was blushing.

 

“Okay.” The slow canter of Bill’s voice is just as frustrating as it was on Saturday night. Why did he talk like that? “Seven s-sound good?” A stutter. Stan resisted the urge to seem a little smug.

 

“Seven sounds great, Big Bill.” He says nonchalantly, flipping open his notebook to where they had left off from Thursday’s lecture. He doesn’t miss how Bill bites his lip.

 

Throughout the rest of the class, Stan catches Bill glancing up from his sketchbook to look at Stan. Not that Stan is paying that much attention to his newfound neighbor. He’s far too focused on taking good notes, unlike some people. 

 

It’s not like he was distracted by the fact that he was going to be in Bill Denbrough’s room again in the next ten hours.

 

No, that definitely wasn’t why he was distracted.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stan doesn’t think of his plans for that night much after he rushes out of the lecture hall.

 

He has plans with Richie and Bev to eat lunch across campus in the deli. Richie had recommended it after he found out they had some Kosher options. It kind of made Stan’s heart jump a little, because Richie can be caring when he wants to be. Like, he’s not an asshole all the time. 

 

It takes him only ten minutes to make it to the deli and Richie and Bev are already sitting there with...Yeah, Stan doesn’t know exactly who they’re sitting with, but he’s definitely seen him before. 

 

The boy is sitting next to Richie, who still towers over him even when he’s sitting down. He’s got brown hair that curls a bit at the ends and a button nose. When Stan approaches the table, he notes the fanny pack. It’s the boy that Richie had tucked underneath his arm the under night. Richie’s one night stand.

 

_ Sometimes they can be more _ , Bev’s words from yesterday in the library seem to be echoing in his ears. 

 

Regardless, he’s happy that Richie’s happy. At least, he looks it when he ruffles the boy’s hair and blows a raspberry on his cheek.

 

“Stan the man! This,” He theatrically motions towards the boy sitting in the booth next to him. “is Eddie Spaghetti.” This so called Eddie shoots him a glare at the name. “My boyfriend. Eddie, you’ve already met my mom Bev. Meet my father Stanley.”

 

Stan drops his bag next to the booth and slides in next to Bev, who had previously been turned around. When Bev greets Stanley, she places a chaste little kiss on Stan’s cheeks. “Love you, honey.”

 

Stan grins, trying not to burst out laughing as he takes off his mittens and coat. “Nice to meet you again, Eddie. For real this time.”

 

The boy seems to blush, and Stan didn’t expect anyone that would date Richie would have any shame. “You too, Stan.” He begins cutting up his sandwich with a knife and fork; Stan doesn’t question it. 

 

“You didn’t order for me?” Stan says quizzically, raising an eyebrow. Richie always orders for him since Stan has to take the longest walk.

 

Richie sighs and pulls Eddie under his arm. He seems to fit there alright. “I had to order for my boy toy here,” Eddie seems to not be fond of that nickname either. “I can only keep track of so many orders, bird boy.” Eddie looks between the pair a little frantic, but calms down when Stan smiles and gets up from the table.

 

It’s really no big deal that things are changing, Stan tries to convince himself. Everyone is happy. He’s lucky today hasn’t been the worst or he doesn’t think he would be handling this all that well, but Eddie is nice. Richie is happy. He has plans tonight at seven.

 

And the one thing that’s normal is that Mike is behind the counter, ready to take his order. “The usual, Stan?”

 

Because when Stan isn’t running across campus on Tuesdays for lunch with his friends, he may or may not eat here every single day. They take his meal plan, their food isn’t that bad, and he doesn’t have to lie to his dad about his eating habits when he returns home on winter break. 

 

“No,” Stan says. He will not be having chicken salad today, he thinks. Because things are changing and he’s not going halfway. “I think I’ll do,” He bites his lips and looks up at the menu. He’s never really had to look before.

 

Mike looks a little shocked as Stan scans the board and Stan feels a little proud of himself. He’s never been one to shock people. Stan realizes how stupid this is when all the words on the menu start blurring together and he can’t make out the individual menu items.

 

“I like the falafel with the hummus and bagel chips, personally.” Mike offers helpfully. Even though him and Mike aren’t friends, Stan likes to think they could be. Mike is incredibly kind and always make accommodations for Stanley, even though there’s really no need to. He’ll serve all of his food on separate plates and gives him a new cup every time he needs more water

 

He knows that Mike studies history, because sometimes when Stan is here, Mike will take his break and they’ll sit across from each other and chat. Mike is a junior, two years Stan’s senior, and has already finished all of his Gen Ed credits. That’s why, Mike explains, Stan probably had never seen him around that much.

 

He’s a nice guy. Stan is kind of grateful.

 

“I’ll do that, thanks.” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket as Mike rings up the order.

 

“What’d you think of Richie’s new friend?” He says as swipes Stan’s card through the machine, which then spits out a receipt.

 

Stan chuffs a bit. “I don’t know how Richie got someone that...formidable.” He mutters, but Mike lets out a laugh before folding the receipt and handing it back to Stan. 

 

“Never thought he’d be settling dow-”

 

“I am NOT settling down, Mikey boy!” Richie’s voice interjects from across the deli. The few people that are eating at the counter turn their heads, and the only person who seems to mind is Eddie. He cowers a bit in the corner as if trying to use Richie as a human shield, trying to shy away from the attention. 

 

Stan doesn’t miss how Eddie’s face turns bright red.

 

Richie can say he’s not settling down, but this is the closest Stan has ever seen him get to it. 

 

“He’s definitely settling down.” Mike faux whispers, but Richie doesn’t seem to mind and continues gushing over Eddie. Stan can only imagine the complaining (even though it will be half assed) that Bev will do later when the two aren’t around.

 

“You’re right about that,” Stan says, heading back to his ridiculous friends so he can sit while waiting for his food.

 

Stan doesn’t even get to slide into the booth before Bev is wrapping an arm around him, always one for platonic affection. “I’ve decided!” She holds up her other hand as if she’s had an epiphany. “We’re adopting Edward.”

 

“That is _ not  _ my name!” Eddie huffs, although there’s no malice.

 

The whole table laughs. 


	5. hope that you can keep it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tell me all that   
> you've thrown away  
> find out the games   
> you don't wanna play
> 
> \--dirty little secret by all american rejects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised a double update last weekend but life comes at you fast! I actually know what's happening in the next chapter so I'll try to update sooner this time!
> 
> Triggers: none that I am aware of
> 
> Also, happy Thanksgiving to those in the US!

Seven o’clock has approached much too quickly for Stan’s liking

 

And by seven, he means 6:45. Stan is always at least fifteen minutes early to everything, unless it’s lunch with Richie and Bev. So here he is, standing in the foyer of this stupid frat house and wondering if maybe he should just invite himself up.

 

Stan really enjoys manners and being polite, but it sadly leaves him in some very awkward situations like this one.

 

“Hey, Stan.” He turns and sees a boy that he should know, really. He’s seen him talking to Mike at the deli and he’s always at those stupid parties that Stan thinks he may actually find himself attending again. The guy is tall, just about as tall as Stan, but much stockier. His shoulders are wide and Stan thinks that this guy could probably crush him in a second.

 

“I’m Ben.” He sticks out his hand at Stan, who takes it rather hesitantly. Stan is not a fan of strangers or the fact that ever since last Saturday, more and more of them know his name. He kind of likes to be left alone and hidden in the background.

 

Regardless of his preference, he still gives a somewhat warm hello to the new guy. Or is Stan the new guy? He presumes that would make more sense since Ben lives here.

 

“You hanging out with Bill tonight? He mentioned it earlier.” Stan wanted to say no, that they were studying. Not hanging out. Bill had asked him over to study. Stan knew he was terrible at small talk, absolutely and acutely aware of it.

 

“Uh.” He looks at his feet. “Yeah, I guess we’re hanging out.”

 

“So, are you going to stand here or do you want me to walk you up to his room?” Stan supposes that any other human being would’ve said that with malice, but this Ben character didn’t seem to be all that malicious.

 

“I know where it is,” Stan, on the other hand, came off as a little short sometimes. “But thank you.” He amends, because even if he’s short he doesn’t want to come across as uncaring or rude or inconsiderate. Because manners.

 

That relieves whatever tension he had in his shoulders and he begins to climb the stairs up to Bill’s room. He doesn’t trip or stumble like he did last time. He climbs them as if he’s not in a rush, one stair at a time.

 

When he turns Bill’s door knob, it’s not locked like he’s expecting. He’s also not expecting to see Bill spread out on the bed in his pajamas, reading a book. He tries not to focus too much on how he’s shirtless or how his hair is just right.

 

Instead he notes that Bill is reading Beowulf. Of course he’s read Old English. Because that’s just the kind of stuff Stan gets himself into.

 

“You’re early.” Bill says, and Stan still realizes that he’s standing in the doorway, messenger bag slung awkwardly over his shoulder he moves from side to side.

 

Bill sits up from his place on the bed and pats the spot next to him. Stan watches as the muscles across his stomach pull taut and how gracefully his whole body looks. Wow, if Richie could hear his thoughts he couldn’t imagine all the gay jokes the trashmouth would be making.

 

“I like being early.” He says making his way to the bed and opening his messenger bag. Bill gives him a look as he pulls out his notes. “What, Big Bill? Didn’t you invite me over to study?”

 

“Right! Right! Ju-just...don’t you have a book?” Bill grabs his own off of his nightstand and sets down his oh so pretentious copy of Beowulf.

 

“If you take good enough notes,” Stan says, holding up his notebook as if it’s the perfect example (it is), “Then you don’t need the book.” He also couldn’t afford the book. He had been cutting back expenses on campus since day one.

They carry on like that, in what Stan would call somewhat playful banter. He likes Bill’s sense of humor. He can manage to make Stan smile without being crude or offensive. He knows just how to deliver a joke even if the stutter is slight.

 

Before he knows it though, Bill wasn’t joking around anymore. Stan still has his notes in his lap, legs crossed and studying his carefully highlighted handwriting. 

 

“Why are you always hiding, Stan Uris?” 

 

He has to think for a moment. Hiding?

 

Stan feels his cheeks burn red and they’re in a very close and proximal position. Bill is reaching forward, hand cupping Stan’s cheek, as if he’s about to kiss him. Stan can feel the other boy’s warm breath fan his face.

 

“I’m not hiding.” He mutters, looking downwards towards his notes to avoid eye contact. 

 

Bill’s thumb finds it’s way to Stan’s lip and he can feel his heartbeat thumping in his rib cage, threatening to hop out at any moment.  “You’re vuh-very shadowy.”

 

Stan tries not to snort and glances up for a short second, just a moment to look into Bill’s smiling eyes.

 

“Oh, I suppose I am sick,” Stan can tell those aren’t Bill’s own words the second they fall out of his mouth. “One of those weak and divided people who slip like shadows among you strong solid ones. But sometimes, out of necessity, shadowy people take on a strength of our own.”

 

Stan is no literary buff. He can tell that Bill is just by looking at his bookshelf. Yes, he’s read a few classics here and there, but Stan usually doesn’t waste his time with fiction and romanticism. Bill, that seems to be what he’s about. Wooing people with words. 

 

“Shadowy doesn’t make me sound very inviting.” Stan steals a look at  Bill, who’s still looking directly at him. He can feel his cheeks heat up under his gaze.

 

“D-don’t let Tennessee Williams fool you.” Bill grins and Stan can hear it as much as he can see it. Like Stan knew that it was Tennessee Williams who said it. “Shadowy is vuh-very inviting.”

 

The stutter only seems to come around when Bill isn’t quoting some long monologue or waxing someone else’s poetic manuscripts. Stan didn’t want to ask especially since this seemed to be  a bad time. He was still learning about that. Bad times to say things.

 

Stan constitutes this as a bad time mostly because he can feel Bill’s breath fanning his face. The space between them has become smaller and one of Bill’s hands is resting on Stan’s thigh, nudging the notes away. 

 

“You think so?” His lips brush against Bill’s when they speak, and oh. Yeah, that’s a little too intimate for Stan’s liking.

 

Bill must be thinking the same thing, because instead of a gentle press of the lips, it’s hungry. Stan hears the notes from his lap fall to the floor but he doesn’t reach to pick them up, instead letting Bill push him from his upright position so he’s lying down on the bed.

 

Stan is starting to think everything is a lot different when he’s sober.

 

He closes his eyes and he can feel Bill’s cool fingers making their way under his shirts. His own fingers find his way to Bill’s shoulders, gripping at his bare shoulders. The angle is all awkward since Stan is still trying to prop himself up on his elbows, and Bill pushes on a chest a bit to get him to fall back on the mattress.

 

Bill’s hands start working at his belt and Stan is starting to think that this is moving a little too fast, but he really doesn’t mind it. He’d rather it be fast than slow and all foreplay. He likes things straight and to the point.

 

“Bill!” There’s shouting from the other side of the door and Stan thinks back to Ben from the foyer, whose voice sounded pretty similar. Despite what Stan thought Bill’s reaction would be, the other boy just keeps working off Stan’s clothes. 

He figures if  Bill isn’t worried than he shouldn’t be either, so he tucks his face into Bill’s neck and begins kissing the pale skin there.

 

Ben doesn’t seem to like the lack of response because the door handle is turning and he’s walking in. “Oh my god.”

 

Stan sits up quickly, awkwardly headbutting Bill in the process, and grabs at the blanket to cover himself up, but he figures it’s too late. Bill sits up and his eyebrows raise, as if asking Ben  _ What the fuck? _

 

“I left my chem work in here.” He says a bit awkwardly. Shuffling quickly over to the desk, he grabs his papers and leaves as quickly as he came without saying another word. Bill gets up, still wearing his pajama bottoms, and follows Ben out the door quickly.

 

The door shuts behind Bill and Stan is left to his own device. He lowers his blanket, which was acting as some sort of wall to hide him from Ben. It didn’t cover him all that well considering the sides were still tucked under the mattress.

 

The room is even neater from the last time he remembers it, but this time a headache and a slight bit of shock aren’t in his way. He tends to get nitpicky when he sees a new place, tries to find every single issue he can with it. But this time, there aren’t many. Ben’s scrambles chemistry work is no longer on the desk and Bill’s books seem to be more organized-

 

He’s knocked out of his thoughts when the door is opening.

 

“So-sorry about that.” Bill says, although it’s not sheepish like if Stan would’ve been in his place. He can only imagine Bev or Richie walking in on Stan while making out with someone. He wouldn’t be able to handle it as well as Bill is handling it right now.

 

“What’d you say to him?” Stan asks, because it’s what he is thinking. Not because it’s a good time to say it.

 

“I told him not to tuh-tell anyone.”

 

That’s not exactly what Stan was expecting Bill to say, although it’s a bit hypocritical. He hadn’t exactly told Richie or Bev about this studying thing or that he was still talking to Bill. In fact, Bill hadn’t been brought up since the library yesterday. Not a peep about Bill at lunch or anything.

He just doesn’t feel like he should be...hiding. He doesn’t want to believe that Bill is ashamed of him, but then again, does Bill even like him? Or are they just going to keep hooking up occasionally? It’s not that if Bill told him to jump, he would ask how high. Maybe, just maybe, if Bill asked him to come over, he’d ask when. That’s different.

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bill said. Stan wondered if he really did. “Ben is really tr-trustworthy. W-wouldn’t tuh-tell another soul.”

 

“Wouldn’t tell another soul.” Stan repeats as Bill walks back towards the bed. He’s very distracting with his messy auburn hair in his face and pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

Stan thinks their moment is kind of over, that he should back up his notes and go back home, but Bill suprirses him.

 

“Let’s get back to it, shall we?” 

 

He’s not talking about the notes on the floor.


	6. oh no, i think i'm catching feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and what good when both choices i've got  
> have us staring down the barrel   
> to the bullets i can't stop?  
> and so i stand off like indecision's kevlar  
> till this fear of feeling stops.
> 
> \--sex by eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: implied sexual content
> 
> You may be asking why I never edit this shit. I will...someday. Maybe. 
> 
> Also, I tried to update a little faster. Not exactly sure how I feel about this chapter? I spent so much time writing it and it still feels rushed plus it kinda had a mind of it's own, but we'll see where it goes from here.

Stan knows it takes exactly seven repetitions for something to become part of his routine

 

He always thought it was certain but he’s starting to wonder if wandering into Bill’s house for the past three nights was starting to change that. Stan had given Bill his number after Tuesday, figuring that if it had happened twice it could probably happen again.

 

He wasn’t expecting to get a text on Wednesday that read  **_study tonite? ;)_ **

 

Stan decided to take mercy on Bill’s misspelling of the word tonight and sent back a short affirmative. This time he was invited over at nine instead of seven, which was fine with Stan. They didn’t study at all.

 

The same thing happened Thursday. Wash, rinse, repeat. It was almost a routine. Only four more days to go, unless Bill somehow got sick of him between now and then. A quick text saying that he’d be over in a few hours practically looked like he had copied and pasted, although he never said anything. Maybe Stan should stop being so predictable.

 

It’s not that Stan is irritated by this change in routine. He gets out of classes around two o’clock usually. He still works in the political science office for two hours a day. The only difference is his bed time routine and how he gets up in the morning. 

 

There’s no longer ten minute dental hygiene routines. Instead, it’s just a quick brush and use of mouthwash. Instead of waking up with the sun, he wakes up an hour earlier (and so does Bill) so he can make it back to his dorm without catching the attention of Ben again. He still eats breakfast. He still shows up to class thirty minutes early. He half expects the weekend to be different than Wednesday and Thursday.

 

But it’s Friday night and his phone dings.

 

**Bill:** _ wanna come over tonite? _

 

Maybe Stan should bring up the spelling since this is the third time, but he remembers most people don’t text as if they’re turning it into their English professor.  

 

**Stan:** _ I’ll be over at nine. _

 

He feels a little conflicted then because he has synagogue in the morning. Maybe he should tell Bill that he can’t stay the night?

 

Because he had been doing that too. After the first night he had began throwing in an extra change of clothes in his messenger back instead of his studying materials. No more history notebook, instead he packed his ironed shirts and crisp white socks.

 

He always wondered if he should’ve kept his previous tactic. He’s pretty sure Richie had called it a hit and run. Bill had woken him up for breakfast on Thursday and he was much too comfortable in Bill’s bed. He walked around Bill’s room barefoot. Sometimes, afterwards, Bill would read out loud to him.

 

Stan was feeling...almost domestic.

 

The fear he had was that this was moving fast. Everything was moving fast. He never kissed on the first date, much less had sex. But he figured they weren’t even dating. Bill wasn’t even his boyfriend. Bill hadn’t asked him on a date or invited him to lunch. They hadn’t been able to even be out together in public unless it was sitting shoulder to shoulder in their 9 AM lecture.

 

Stan was clingy, that’s how he thought of it. He was just growing a little too attached. He thought Bill was hot, but where was the substance?

 

Oh yes, there was tons. Because Bill was far more than hot and it was hard for Stan not to see that. Bill had this confidence about him that seemed so effortless unlike Stan. He was easygoing. He was a great story teller, because when Stan didn’t think anything on his bookshelf sounded interesting, Bill would spin his own tales.

 

In the end, he decided that he wouldn’t text Bill about leaving in the morning. He waits for Bill to send him one of those emojis instead or just a little  **_k! see you then ;)_ **

 

Instead, his phone dings again. He reaches across his desk to pick it up, looking up from his Psych research to unlock it. 

 

**Bill:** _ wanna come over @ 7 instead? we can eat downstairs _

 

Yeah, Stan wouldn’t turn down a free meal. So he quickly texts Bill, who is just his friend, that yes. He will be coming over at 7.

 

It’s probably the closest thing to a real date, besides the ones set up by his parents, that he’s ever had. And yeah, he knows it’s not a real date. Bill didn’t try to woo him with flowers or ask him out to a real dinner. It’s just eating in the kitchen of the frat house, where some of the other guys would probably be.

 

Stan tells himself that it’s the thought that counts.

 

* * *

 

Stan thinks that having dinner is one of the worst ideas Bill has ever had.

 

And Stan isn’t bias, besides the fact that he's only known the guy for six days. He uses the word _know_ lightly. Bill has a lot, a fucking lot, of good ideas, okay? He’s pretty resourceful, pretty good at making things interesting, pretty good at voicing his opinion. 

 

Stan doesn’t assume people will accommodate to his diet, okay? He just forget that sometimes he has restrictions that he can’t imagine ignoring. Like the fact that there’s a pepperoni pizza sitting in front of him that’s from the local pizza place.

 

He’s one hundred percent sure it’s not kosher.

 

Bill had grabbed them both plates from the cabinet and sat directly across from Stan at the table, looking at him expectantly. Stan really has two choices in this scenario. He can eat the damn pizza and feel guilty about it for a week, or he can tell Bill that he can’t possibly eat this.

 

The issue with the second option is that it seems rude. Very rude, because Bill had finally invited Stan over to eat. Not just make out or study or have sex or sleep. To actually eat and talk. To have a real conversation.

 

Stan is a little worried that they won’t be able to have one.

 

So when Bill looks at him with raised eyebrows, a little bit of concern schooled under his features, Stan grabs a piece of the pizza and puts it on his plate.

 

“Can I have some silverware?” Stan’s voice sounds small and petulant in his own ears and everything about this whole situation is so much more awkward than Stan thought it would be.

 

“Oh, ye-yeah! I’ll guh-get some.” Bill rushes out, and Stan is sure that Bill must think he’s crazy for eating pizza with silverware. It’s not Bill’s fault that he knew literally nothing about Stan’s habits or mannerisms. It felt like Stan knew a thousand of Bill’s, but then he remembered that they have only spent time together inside of Bill’s bedroom.

 

When Bill hands him the silverware, he mutters a small thank you before everything goes back to awkward and tense.  _ This was a terrible idea, I should’ve came over at nine. This was an idiot move. I can’t believe I though- _

 

“How far have you gotten on that essay?” Bill asks, folding a slice of pizza in half like some sort of barbarian and taking a bite.

 

This is still Bill. Yeah, he can do this. Plus, conversation puts off the inevitable eating of this pizza slice, which he began to cut into tiny little pieces. He can hold a conversation with Bill, cut his pizza into pieces, move it around the plate a little bit, never have to really eat any of it. Perfect.

 

“I only have my intro done. I’ll get it done on Sunday.”

 

“Got big Saturday plans then?” Bill muses, an amused look across his face.

 

“Saturday is Sabbath.” Stan says, taking his fork and carefully cutting away at the crust. He wasn’t meaning to scrutinize the slice, but it’s what it must have looked like since it was all very precise. 

 

And Stan guesses this is kind of a big deal. He doesn’t really talk about his religion, not that he’s ashamed of it. It’s just that he’s been friends with Richie and Bev for a few months and he’s only talked about it once, when they were picking their lunch spot. 

 

“I thought that was on Sunday.” Bill’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. Stan has noticed that he’s very expressive with them. He also notices the scar that cuts through the one on the left.

 

Stan smiles, because Bill is so smart but somehow still an idiot. When he looks down at his plate, his curls fall in his face. He takes a small fraction of the crust and eats it, thinking it’s the closest thing to safe he’s going to get. “Saturday is you’re Jewish.

 

And Bill should know. He saw Stan handing out fliers for the Jewish Student Union, but maybe he just wasn’t that observant. 

 

“Oh, I see. I haven’t got muh-mine started yet, but the wuh-War of 1812 doesn’t really interest me so it’s to be expected.”  It’s almost odd how Bill can just move on from that and it gets under his skin just the tiniest bit.. He guesses it’s because he can’t forget. There’s always someone reminding.

 

His father. Patty. The stupid girl from the student center.

 

“Yeah, I’ve never really cared that much for it either.” And he thinks bringing it up might’ve just made things even more awkward. He doesn’t know if they’ll even get through another five minutes of eating.

 

“Hey Stan, didn’t know you would be he- is that pizza?” It’s Eddie, Eddie who he had just had lunch with again yesterday. Richie’s boy...friend? Boyfriend. He had a backpack over his shoulder and looked like he was about to head upstairs. Sometimes Stan forgot that he lived here.

 

“Yeah, you want a slice?” Bill says, still chewing on his last bite.

 

Eddie gets on his tiptoes to reach a plate from one of the higher shelves and heads back to the table that Bill and Stan are sitting at. He takes a slice, takes a bite, and then looks between the pizza and Stan. Stan’s plate and then Stan. Stan and then the pizza box again. Then Bill and Stan.

 

Anxiety kind of crawls into the back of Stan’s throat. He’s starting to think he should’ve gone with option two after all.

 

“Hey Bill, you know Stan can’t eat this, right?” Eddie says, being polite enough to chew and swallow before saying anything.

 

There go the eyebrows again. Stan wishes Eddie wasn’t so observant. How he had somehow found out so much about Stan in two lunches than Bill had found out about him in three late night meetups. If Eddie is this observant, he wonders how much he’s picked up on Richie, like how insufferable he is, yet.

 

Bill looks incredibly confused, but Eddie clears it up quickly. “He can’t eat pork, Bill.” Stan can feel his face heat up and yeah, he’s incredibly embarrassed by this whole ordeal. “It’s not kosher.” 

 

Stan feels a little betrayed by this whole ordeal even though Eddie meant no harm, but the boy grabs his plate of pizza and heads out.

 

“How does h-he know that?” And Stan wonders if that’s jealousy that he hears in  Bill’s voice, although he doesn’t want to come to that conclusion.

 

“Eddie is...my friend’s boyfriend.” Stan says, still pushing the cut up pizza around his plate. “We eat lunch together on Tuesdays and Thursday at the kosher deli down by the University Commons.” He doesn’t mention that this is the first week that’s happened, or that Eddie and Richie hooked up at the party last weekend. Or that Bev is there. All of those are extraneous details that aren’t important.

 

Bill sits up a little straighter in his seat, sets down his pizza, as if he’s going to bolt. He doesn’t look embarrassed, but he does look like he’s thinking. “Well, let’s guh-go then.” 

 

There are about a thousand things going through Stanley’s mind. Where is Bill taking him? Back to his dorm? Is this Bill politely escorting him to the front door?

 

“Go where exactly?” Stan asks from his spot in the chair as Bill grabs his own jacket off the back of his chair and shrugs it onto his shoulders. It’s better to ask, he thinks, than worry. Even if he doesn’t follow through with asking all the time.

 

“To the kuh-kuh-kosher deli by University cuh-cuh-Commons.” Bill features soften a little bit and Stan is pretty sure that his heart goes through his chest.

 

Stan shrugs on his jacket and the two brace the cold September air. 

 

Stan orders falafel like Mike had recommended the other day, because Bill had never tried it. Turns out that Bill is a fan of bagel chips. Stan finds out that Bill isn’t keen on kosher hot dogs, but likes wedge salad. He teases him for being such a soccer mom. Bill insists that he pays and even gets Stanley a brownie. It almost feels like a date.

 

They don’t come back to the frat house until nine, and the rest of the night goes exactly like Stanley expected it would.


	7. i'm so sorry that you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "perfect murder, take your aim  
> i don't belong to anyone,   
> but everybody knows my name"
> 
> \--copycat by billie eilish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: there's mention of an explicit sexual act, but it's not described
> 
> welcome back to matty's write time the show where we write time write time. i'm back with a new chapter!

It’s Monday and Stan is not exactly sure what he did wrong.

 

Maybe nothing? Stan never went out of his way to make Bill uncomfortable or upset him, but maybe he did it on accident. Stan wasn’t exactly good at reading people. He had a very specific skill set and that just didn’t fit in.

 

He tries to think back to Saturday night. Nothing was particularly off about that in a bad way, Stan thinks. It was fun, he could have a lot of fun with Bill. 

 

The thing about Saturday night was that it was totally out of his comfort zone. Bill didn’t call it a date, but it sure wasn’t what they had been doing the rest of the times they met up. Stan hadn’t been on a date in what felt like years even if it was only last May.

 

He went to senior prom with some girl named Leilah, a family friend who he had seen at synagogue on Saturday since before he can remember. When he had presented her with a corsage, which is mother insisted he do, she kissed him on the cheek. While he was not a fan of the particular gesture, he knew it was the thought that counted.

 

The thing about Leilah was that he was not comfortable around her. He guesses they had fun that Saturday night, but he felt like some sort of awkward third wheel when there wasn’t even another person around.

 

His mother pushed his curls back from his face and told him that it was a shame they didn’t work out. Stanley didn’t think so.

 

Yes, Leilah was nice, but Leilah was not comfortable. 

 

Bill sitting across from him in the deli booth was comfortable.

 

_ Come on babe, I’ll catch it.  _ Bill had encouraged from his side of the table, trying to convince Stan to throw a bagel chip in his mouth. Stan had tried telling him that they weren’t dense enough and they’d be too awkward to throw. Bill didn’t pay him any mind and eventually Stan gave into the peer pressure. The bagel chip ended up bouncing off of Bill’s chin. If Mike had been working that night, they probably would have been scolded for being too loud, jokingly of course.

 

It’s not until Bill had picked the chip off the table and dipped it in hummus that Stan had realized what Bill had called him. Babe. Huh.

 

Instead of replying with something remotely affectionate, Stan chided Bill for eating food that had touched the dirty tabletop. He had feigned a pitiful look with doe eyes and a slightly wobbly lip. Stan had given in quickly.  _ Okay, okay, do what you want. _

 

He supposed some term of affection could have been placed at the end of it, but Stan had never used one before. He wasn’t going to start now.

 

But was Bill really mad at him because he didn’t call him sweetheart or baby? Stan always made the assumption that Bill might be a little shallow, after all the first thing he ever called him was pretty boy, but not _ that _ shallow.

 

He fast forwarded through the night in his head. He remembers Bill lightly tugging on his hair, hands running down his body, a few compromising positions, and Bill giving him high praise for what was supposedly an amazing blow job. So. That was nothing new, unless Bill decided that he preferred mediocrity in bed.

 

Which, Stan had pointed out that Friday night had been the better than any of their nights before.  _ Alcohol provokes the desire but takes away the performance.  _ Bill had said, admitting it was a Shakespeare quote only seconds later.

 

Stan teased him for it, of course.  _ Are you trying to say you were drunk everytime?  _ His voice had been light, he was obviously joking. Bill had told him no, his smile practically blinding Stan in the darkness of the room, it was just exponentially better than the first time is all.

 

So if it wasn’t dinner and it wasn’t the sex, what was it? It wasn’t the fact that he fell asleep curled up next to Bill. There’s only one night he hadn’t done that and Bill was a cuddler, it wouldn’t have sent him running.

 

Stan spent a lot of time trying to scratch up any shred of evidence that would cause Bill to ignore him for almost three whole days.

 

Maybe that was it. Maybe Bill realized that Stan had _ feelings _ , he thought bitterly. Bill and him had never discussed the dynamics of their relationship in its short lifespan.

 

Saturday morning is the only thing he hadn’t thought about.

 

Stan had woken up with Bill looking over him, Stan’s phone in his hand. The other boys hand was on his shoulder, gently shaking him as if not to rouse him to forcefully. The sun had been shining in through the curtains and Stanley had panicked. They were usually up before the sun, but it was Saturday.

 

_ Who’s Patty?  _ Bill had said, waving Stan’s phone in front of his face. Who’s Patty? Why was he asking that now? Stan grabs his phone and looks at his notifications. Patty. Fuck. It was Saturday.

 

He remembers how quickly he jumped from the bed, throwing on his pants from the day before. Stan couldn’t wear his button down from yesterday to service, he just couldn’t. He remembers asking Bill if he had any dress shirts.

 

Bill had watched him like he was some sort of zoo creature as he squabbled around the room and got his stuff together. He pointed to the third drawer and told Stanley that he could borrow one, _ I guess _ . 

 

Stan had rushed out the door in his clothes while waving a quick goodbye. The see you later had been implied.

 

But that couldn’t have been the issue. Bill knew that Stan had some place to be Saturday morning, hadn’t he told him? They had discussed it while Bill had been eating pizza and Stan had been sitting politely with his hands folded, he was pretty sure.

 

Maybe Bill just needed a break. Stan couldn’t blame him. Sometimes Stanley can’t even stand himself. He’s overbearing, a bit clingy, sort of a coward, and his personality is dry along with his humor. Maybe Bill would call him later on this week.

 

_ Bill probably needed a break _ , Stan thought bitterly. _ I wish he would have said something. _

 

_ \-------------- _

 

Stan i s starting to think that Bill needed more than a break. Maybe Bill had meant to break the whole thing off.

 

He had just gotten out of his Tuesday history lecture, which had been awkward as hell. Bill wasn’t there to bump shoulders with him in the front row like he had been last week on Tuesday and Thursday. 

 

Instead, Bill showed up five minutes before 9 instead of thirty. He sat in the back instead of the front. Stan tried not to let his shoulders slump too much from the disappointment of it all.

 

He still couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong.

 

It’s all kind of pieced together when he’s walking into the diner and all the heads turn as the bell chimes over his head. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a mixed reaction.

 

Mike is grinning at him, which yeah. That makes sense. Mike is working in the service industry, where you’re supposed to greet the customer with a smile. Mike is also his friend.

 

He thought Eddie was his friend, even though they had only interacted a handful of times. But Eddie is glaring daggers at him from what seems is going to be his permanent place in the booth. He’s whispering at Richie, who manages to keep a somewhat friendly face despite his boyfriend’s attitude. 

 

Stan can tell that Bev is leaning into the conversation, and every once in awhile she shakes her head as if whatever Eddie is saying is ridiculous. 

 

“Excuse me? Can you get out of the way?” Some girl who even Stan towers over is pushing past him and heading to a table. Ah, he was standing in the doorway.

 

He makes his way to the counter and orders chicken salad, his usual before he became so adventurous. He can make things go back to the way things they were if he tries hard enough, he knows he can.

 

The keys of the cash register click and Mike is printing his receipt. “Congrats, by the way.” Mike folds the receipt around his card and hands it back.

 

“What?” Stan says as Mike hands him his bag. A to go order. Stan had never made one of those here, but he can still feel Eddie’s eyes burning holes into the back of his head. It’s a safe bet to just go back to his dorm room to eat. He would probably just make things more awkward.

 

“You’ve got a girlfriend? Heard it through the grapevine. Her name’s Patty, right?” Mike raises his eyebrows.

 

“Who did you hear that from?” Stan’s fingers tighten around the white paper bag.

 

“I’m friends with Ben Hanscom, you know him, right? Came in here yesterday to borrow some of my notes and he told me that Bill Denbrough-” Oh. “Told him that you had a girlfriend. He knows we’re friends too, so it’s not like he’s telling everyone. Ben isn’t like that.”

So Stan didn’t do anything wrong.

 

Stan just wasn’t thinking and didn’t explain himself when Patty had texted him on Saturday morning. He had run out the door like Bill was some sort of shameful one night stand to forget about, even though it was clear he wasn’t.

 

Bill thought that Patty was his girlfriend.

 

“I don’t know what Ben said,” Stan felt his voice was a little too loud and his ears were a little too red and he was a little too angry. “But Patty is not my girlfriend.”

 

It’s a bit unfair to take his anger out on Mike like this, who meant no harm. Mike was congratulating him. Mike was proud that he had gotten a girlfriend, that he had actually found someone, that he wouldn’t be spending so much time in the deli anymore. Because it was some sort of achievement for Stan to have a girlfriend.

 

“Oh, sorry.” Mike says, and he sounds sincere. “I didn’t think it was a sore sub-”

 

“I’m gay.” Stan spits out, holding his bag closer to his chest. “Or, wait, just not straight. I’m not sure. I just know…”

 

It’s the first time that Stan’s ever said it out loud. Or admitted it really, because yes, Bev knows he likes boys. And Richie knows he likes boys. And Eddie and Ben know. But Stan has never said it out loud.

 

“Yeah, I get it. I’m not either.” For some reason, he knew Mike would understand. No matter what Stan was talking about, Mike always understood. Even if he didn’t. 

 

“I have to,” Stan fumbles with the pocket of his coat and pulls his scarf tighter around his neck. He knows he should say more. Say something about Mike’s admission, but his mind draws a blank. “I have to go. Thanks Mike.” 

 

Mike smiles a warm, homely smile. It comforts Stan just the smallest bit before he’s heading out the door and Mike goes back to work behind him. He can hear Bev walking up to the corner and leaning over the counter.  _ You say something ‘bout Ben, Mikey? _

 

As he walks down the sidewalk, he can hear Richie even though the door has been closed.  _ What the fuck was that about?  _ And there was definite emphasis on the fuck, just like anything Richie Tozier said.

 

He should have told them. He doesn’t know what he should’ve told them, but he should have. And whatever he was going to tell his friends? He should’ve told Bill the same thing.

 

Something comes over him and it feels like determination. His steps are a little quicker and he is not heading towards his dorm room. He’s heading in the opposite direction, because fuck eating his lunch in peace.

 

Stan was going to make things right with Bill Denbrough.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't know people would be interested enough in this story to make moodboards and things, but if you are make sure to tag me wherever you post it! I'm @drippingcandie on tumblr and @willwheelcr on twitter :) i get so excited when you guys share your work with me


	8. with my back against the wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keep me still and wonder  
> why we falter.  
> do you wanna stay here  
> or do you want to phase me out?
> 
> \--phase me out by verite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: lots of cursing... and confrontation. Nothing too triggering here.

 

“Where’s Bill at?”

 

Stan was standing in the foyer of this goddamn house again and Ben was standing right in front of him. The other boy had looked concerned and a little struck by the state that Stan was in. His curls were flying everywhere, his cheeks were flush, and it looked like he had probably run here.

 

“He’s in his room but-” 

 

“Thanks, Ben.” Stan said shortly, long legs carrying him up the stairs far faster than he thought was possible. That’s all Stan needed. No explanation or long spiel about how he was busy.

 

“Stan wait! You don’t want to-” His voice stopped echoing up the stairs as Stan rounded the corner and walked down the hall. This could not wait until another time. It didn’t matter if Bill was studying or taking a nap. This was urgent.

 

He realizes his nails were biting into his left palm and the white bag in his white hand was only seconds from ripping under the pressure of his grip. He was...mad.

 

Mad. What an odd thought.

 

Stanley Uris could definitely be described as irritable or annoyed on most accounts. Things were to go his way or he’d huff until they did. He was good at making things happen, so the latter rarely happened...but mad? Stan had never really had a reason to be mad before.

 

Maybe when he was little and his father went bird watching without him. Or when Richie had spilled beer on one of his ornithology books that he had received as a Hanukkah gift. But he wasn’t mad. He didn’t yell. He was upset, but mad?

 

But at least when those things happened, there was communication. His father said that Stan couldn’t go because he had the flu. Richie hung his head in shame when he brought the tarnished book to Stan only a few moments later.

 

Bill had...talked to someone else before Stan. Betrayal sat heavy on Stan’s tongue.

 

He knew that Bill wasn’t his boyfriend, that was obvious. He still thought that after Friday night and the nights before there had been some sort of trust established between the two.

 

Stan had thought this was still salvageable, he truly did. He just had to go in there and sort things out with Bill. Tell him that he wasn’t dating Patty and he had simply been late for prayer on Saturday. That he hadn’t texted first because he didn’t know their boundaries. 

 

It’s not like Stan was the one that was hiding Bill from his friends. Omitting the truth wasn’t exactly lying, but Bill had purposely avoided bringing Stan in front of his friends even if they already knew. He remembers Bill had snapped back from Stan’s touch on Friday as if he was a hot pan when Eddie came in. 

 

So why was he apologizing exactly again?

 

Oh yeah, lack of communication. Even though they were both at fault. Someone had to apologize first. And Stan was never that guy, but this time he assumes he’s going to have to be. It didn’t seem like Bill was ever going to fucking man up.

 

So Stan was going to have to. Looking at the door which he had only walked through a dozen times, it seemed far more intimidating than any other door he had ever seen. It was the same damn door with the same person behind it, so what was the issue?

 

What Ben had said,  _ Wait, Stan!  _

 

Maybe something was wrong? Maybe Bill had told Ben that he never wanted to see Stan again? The thought had given him anxiety.

 

There was nothing for Stan to be anxious about and he knew it. No reason pointed to Stan getting so...attached to Bill within only a week.

 

So Stanley was not going to wait. No, he didn’t care if Bill wanted to see him again. He shifted his messenger bag on his shoulder and switched his bag of food to his left hand, using his dominant hand to reach towards the door knob.

 

“Bill?” He hadn’t meant it as a warning but it almost felt like one as the door creaked open. He didn’t get a response and was going to assume no one was in there but-

 

Bill was lying alone on his bed, covered by what looked to be some sort of handmade quilt. Stan had never seen it before, so it must have been stored under his bed. His hair looked like it hadn’t been combed through in days, similar to what it looked like after he takes off his dumb snapbacks.

 

The room around him was in disarray and looked no better than Bill, no longer clean and neat how he once had it. Clothes were strewn across the floor and many of the books were lying open on the floor.

 

“Bill?”

 

“What the fuh-fuck do you want, Ben? I tuh-told you that I duh-don’t want any cuh-cuh-Oh.” Bill had sort of sat up in his bed, propping himself up on his elbows. The blanket fell and Stan could tell that he was shirtless. “It’s you.”

 

All the confidence sunk out of Stan in only a few moments when he saw the way that Bill’s face fell. “Yeah, it’s me.” He said a little stiffly, pulling his coat tighter around him. “Could we talk?”  _ For once, let’s talk. I just want to explain.  _ But he didn’t want to sound that desperate.

 

“Fine.” Bill huffed, pulling the blanket off of him and swinging his legs over the bed. He wasn’t clad in anything except boxers, apparently.

 

Stan looked down at his shoes. “Do you maybe want to put something on?” Oh, how interesting, he thought while looking at his hands. A hangnail. He should really push back his cuticles. They were getting insanely long and maybe-

 

“It-it’s never buh-bothered you before.” And Bill sounds mad. Mad at him like this is all his fault. And Stan believes it for a moment.

 

“It’s never bothered me before because we’ve never had a serious discussion before.” Stan sets down his messenger bags against the desk and sets his lunch next to the typewriter. It’s obvious that Bill has been using it lately. Stan doesn’t read it because it’s none of his business, but he takes note.

 

“Nuh-never had a suh-serious discussion?” Bill sound more angry, biting out as many words in his sentence as he could.

 

“You wooing me with frivolous literature is not a serious conversation, Bill.” Stan feels exposed even with all his layers and crosses his arms over his chest. He watches a flash of hurt cross Bill’s face, but then he goes back to his stony expression.

 

“I wuh-wasn’t trying to wuh-woo you.” Bill seems to be defensive as he stands up and crosses his own arms only a few feet away from Stan.

 

“Really? That’s what it seemed like. A quick fuck and all.” And Stan knows it’s mean but he can’t stop the words before they tumble from his mouth. If he could pick them back up and shove them back in he would.

 

Bill’s voice rose with his next words. “Quh-quick fuck? At luh-least I’m nuh-not in the cluh-closet and luh-leading some guy on!” He can imagine Bill in his face, poking his chest with each word. But he’s not. Instead, Bill’s hands are clenched at his sides.

 

“I’m not in the closet-”

 

“If yuh-you’re not in the closet, thuh-then why are you duh-dating Puh-Patty and fu-fucking me on the side, Stan? Huh?” That’s when Bill does it. Takes a few steps forward and gets in his face.

 

This is ridiculous, is what Stan thinks. Here he is, standing fully dressed and ready to have an adult conversation while Bill is standing there in his boxers. When was the last time he showered? Did he even go to class this morning? Stan hated the fact that he always had to be the grown up in these situations. The rational one.

 

“Listen, if you would let me talk, I just want to explain-” Stan began, trying to get some distance between the two of them. He was struggling to keep his voice even.

 

“Expluh-plain? What the fuh-fuck is there to ex-”

 

It seemed that every word brought him closer and closer to Stan and suddenly they were chest to chest. Stan did not like people interrupting him. Did not like arguing. Did not like this situation at all. He would have much rather found Bill up here with some girl or something. At least he could’ve ran away embarrassed.

 

But no, Bill had been sitting in his room, which was way messier than the week before, and wallowing in self pity. For some reason, Bill was upset and wasn’t letting Stan apologize. Instead, he would rather be miserable and not make amends like he was some five year old who got his toys stolen on the playground. He was an adult, dammit.

 

“Yeah! Explain! Because I’m not dating Patty and if you just would’ve talked to me, you would know that!” Stan doesn’t like to yell, but he knows his voice has to be a few decibels higher because Bill almost flinches. “I’m not even straight, okay? I don’t like girls. Patty does! Leave her the fuck out of this.”

 

“I didn’t-”

 

“No! It doesn’t matter Bill.” His arms were no longer hugged tightly across his chest. Instead, they were in fists at his sides. “Because everyone’s out to get _ you _ for some reason! You can’t just hide me away every time I’m over and then get to play the victim or whatever-”

 

“I didn’t think yuh-you were-”

 

“You know what? Fuck this.” Stan doesn’t let Bill finish. He tries not to feel some sort of victory as Bill’s mouth hangs open, almost as if he’s struck by the finality of it all. “I can just go find some other guy that doesn’t accuse me of cheating on him when I’m not even dating him! Can’t be that fucking hard.”

 

He grabs his messenger bag off the table and storms down the hall, slamming Bill’s door behind him. He doesn’t hear any footsteps or any protests.

 

Ben is still at the bottom of the stairs, as if he was waiting for Stan to come down. Stan doesn’t hesitate to push right past him and their shoulders bump, but Ben with his stature doesn’t seem to shaken.

 

“Stan!” He calls out after him. More than Bill did. Why did Ben care more than Bill? Probably because Ben had some sort of heart.

 

It didn’t matter because even if Ben was an acquaintance, Stan had other things to worry about. He ignored the call and kept walking, pulling out his phone to open up his messages.

 

**Stan** : Dinner tonight, my place?

 

**Richie** :  if im there am i square

**Bev** : NO ! ur a-round

 

**Richie** : fuck. ill b there stanny boy <3

 

**Bev** : me 2!

 

He knew that this whole scenario would leave him mad far longer than he could make excuses for, so maybe if he bought Richie and Bev some pizza they wouldn’t be too mad at him for keeping secrets. It could be like a little therapy session where he could come clean.

 

And also tell them how wrong those two idiots were.

 

_ More than a one night stand _ ? Isn’t that what Bev had said at the library last week?

 

Stan didn’t think so, not after this whole incident. He could come clean, they would laugh it off, eat pizza, and things would buff out. Things would be back to normal and they’d only be mad for maybe a second or two.

 

**Stan:** Great. See you at six.

 

It’s only then that he realized he had left his lunch on Bill’s desk. Well fuck.


	9. what you lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "sitting in depression  
> always calling me irreverent  
> if I prayed the weight would lessen  
> but your mouth can do it better"
> 
> \--when you're gone by verite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated in forever but one of my new years resolutions is to finish this up by the end of next month! enjoy, even though it's a little shorter than normal. it does it's purpose for the story.

“Does this mean we can eat on your bed?” 

 

Richie walks in with a two litre of whatever sugary drink he would be poisoning his body with that night. It was probably Dr. Pepper, or even worse. Maybe Mountain Dew. Stan had refused to provide drinks when he found out that Richie refused to drink tea, water, fruit juice, or anything that wasn’t ninety percent sugar.

 

“No, it’s not that big of an occasion.” Stan huffs, watching Bev walk in with a tub of ice cream. “But good thinking Bev.”

 

“Well, no one calls an emergency pizza night for nothing.” Bev drops to the floor, pressing her back up.

 

And Bev had a really good point because yeah, pizza night hadn’t been something Stan was ever too keen on. Bev used to call them to order all the time since Stan show up for his freshmen year. According to Richie, they had them once a week last year before Bev got busy with all her extracurriculars. 

 

Richie throws himself down right in the middle of the floor and Stan takes his place on the extra bed, not the one he sleeps in, after setting the pizza boxes in the middle of the floor and taking a piece of cheese for himself.

 

“Any pineapple in these boxes?” Richie says, peeking under the lid of the first pizza which is all cheese.

 

“I actually hate you.” Stan says, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “But yeah, third box. Pineapple on all of it with jalapenos on half. Just like you like it.”

 

“You’re the best, Stanthony.” Richie praises and goes to rifle through the third box. He goes for a piece of just plain pineapple first, and Stan winces just thinking about it.

 

Bev laughs and opens her bottle of iced tea flavored with artificial peach. Stan had tried it, but it hadn’t even tasted like tea. It was sugary and overbearing, coating the inside of his throat. Needless to say that he wasn’t a fan. “He only does that because there’s no other way to get you to eat your fruits and vegetables.”

 

The banter goes back and forth for a bit. It feels normal. Stan starts to wonder why the fuck they haven’t done this in a while, but in reality it’s only been a little over two weeks. This week has probably been the longest of his whole entire life, and that includes attending camp in the fifth grade. It was just as much of a shit show.

  
“I’ve got something to tell you guys.” Stan interrupts whatever the two are joking about and sets down the piece of pizza he was eating.

 

The smile drops from Bev’s face, and Richie throws a look as if to say  _ I told you so. _

 

“It’s not that serious.” He blurts out quickly. “Really. I just thought you guys should know you were definitely right.”

 

Bev’s eyebrows furrow, which is what she always does when her brain is working in overtime. It’s the look she gets when Stan helps her with her algebra or Richie helps her with her science classes.

 

“About the Bill thing. About it being more than a one time thing.”

 

Realization dawns on both of his friends’ faces. He hates when he’s wrong and they’re right, only if it ever happens every great once in a while. It leaves a sinking feeling in his stomach, kind of. 

 

Richie has a grin spread across his face and goes to say something, but Bev manages to stop him. She looks a little conflicted when she opens her mouth. “And this is a bad thing because?”

 

“Stan the man is tapping that and it’s an issue, Bev?’

 

“Obviously you aren’t listening to him. you idiot!” She reaches out a foot and drops it down on his chin. “Listen to him.”

 

“I am listening. He said-”

 

“Not the word vomit, asshole. You’re the only one capable of that. How he’s saying it-”

 

Stan clears his throat a bit and readjusts his position on the bed, no longer leaning against the wall. “I’m still here you know,” They were talking like he didn’t even exist which rubbed him the wrong way. “And I can explain.”

 

“Yeah how did you-”

“Fuck it up. Yeah, I fucked it up.” He puts his head in his hands and let himself regain his composure if only for a moment. “He thinks I’m dating  _ Patty _ .”

 

Richie practically does a spit take, but luckily there wasn’t anything in his mouth when he did so. “Big Bill thinks you’re dating Patricia? That uptight-”

 

“I actually think Patty is wonderful, excuse you.” Bev butts in. When the two boys look at her, she blushes a bit. “And honestly, if things don’t work out with Ben-”

 

“You’re going to ride the Blum train?” Richie chokes out with a wheeze. 

 

Stan thinks all of these theatrics are a bit unnecessary considering there’s much more pressing matters at hand. “Are you not listening to me? He thinks I’m dating Patty.”

 

Richie scoffs at him and grabs another piece of pizza, practically tipping over the two litre that he brought. “So what? It’s not like you guys  _ are  _ dating, so you’re not cheating on her. And you’re not cheating on Billy boy because he isn’t dating you either. Easy.”

 

“Yeah, but-”

 

“Oh no.” Bev says, falling back against the dresser. The few things on top of it rattle a bit and Stan is scared that they’ll fall. “You like him.”

 

“And-”

 

“He likes you.” Bev finishes before Stan even manages to get the sentence out.

 

“Now I can’t say much,” Richie says as relaxed as ever. “Or I’d be a fucking hypocrite, but what do you see in this one night stand of yours, Stan? If he was boyfriend material, you should’ve done what I did and wife him up already.”

 

“That’s not funny,” Stan huffs. If it wouldn’t leave crumbs everywhere, he would definitely throw his plate at Richie. “And it’s complicated.”

 

“Was it always complicated?” Beverly asks with raised eyebrows.

 

Stan has to think on that for a moment, even though he already knows what the answer is. No, it wasn’t complicated in the beginning. They would fuck, cuddle, Stan would stay until morning. Bill would quote dumb literature. Tennessee Williams, Ernest Hemingway, Oscar Wilde. Even Jane Austen. They would laugh and goof off and Stan’s heart goes warm and fuzzy just from thinking about it all.

 

Stan ends up shaking his head. “But it is now.” He groans, rubbing at a spot on his face. “I yelled at him. A lot.”

 

“You really yelled?” Richie says and his eyes are a bit wide, like he can’t believe it. “You yelled at him? Poor little Bill never knew what was coming.”

 

“Oh beep beep, Richie.” Stan mutters.

 

It shuts him up right quick, just like it always has. Bev had taught him that trick within only a few moments after meeting the trashmouth. It’s come in handy in the few months he’s known him, mostly when he’s overstepping Stan’s emotional boundaries. Sometimes it even works with physical ones.

 

“You need our help.” Bev said, tossing her plate to the side. “You need us to come up with a game plan to win him back.”

 

“I never said that, Bev.”

 

“And technically,” Richie said, obviously pointing out the obvious. “Stan the man never had him in the first place.”

 

That’s a good point that Richie had, if Stan was being honest. How can you win back someone that you never even had in the first place? How is he supposed to win back Bill? It was obvious that the guy had feelings for Stan, really obvious, but that didn’t mean he wanted some sort of relationship.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Bev huffs indignantly. “We’ve gotta have a plan to get Stan back with the love of his life.”

 

“Bev! I don’t love him.” Stan manages to get out. “You’re supposed to be the one with some sense around here. You can’t just do that. Say stuff like- like that!”

 

Bev pushes herself up off the ground and climbs into the bed right next to Stan. Her pajama pants clad leg is pressed against his khakis and she throws an arm around his shoulder. It’s a friendly gesture, a much needed hug that Stan didn’t know he would need. He sets his pizza to the side.

 

“I’m not gonna come up with a plan if you don’t want me to, Stanley.” Bev says, ruffling his hair a bit. “It’s none of my business unless you want it to be.”

 

Stan worries on his lip a bit and looks over to Richie, who is looking up to him from his spot on the ground. Something most motivate the trashmouth because he picks himself up and tucks himself into Stan’s other side. 

 

“Yeah. Yes. I think I’d like a plan.” Stan nods, although it’s a little hard to get out. “A plan will be good.”

 

“Okay, well here’s what I was thinking-”

 

“Oh my god, Molly Ringwald had a plan the whole time.”


	10. nothing goes as planned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "all that you rely on  
> and all that you can save  
> will leave you in the morning  
> and find you in the day"
> 
> -in my veins by andrew belle

  
It turns out that Bev’s plan really sucked.

 

Stan likes to think of himself as level headed and rational, and he likes to think that he surrounds himself with level headed people. Sometimes he forgets that the people he surrounds himself with are Beverly Marsh and Richie Tozier.

 

It was a complicated, albeit simple, plan that involved Stan flirting with Mike. At the deli. While Bill was there eating his lunch.

 

Stan can think of about fifteen different things that were wrong with that plan, but he’d gladly name just a few. One, Mike was someone he would consider a close friend. There was no way that Stan would take advantage of him like that. Two. Stan didn’t even know how to flirt in the first place. Three. Bill never ate lunch at the deli unless he was with Stan.

 

So obviously, they needed a new plan.

 

The thing about Stan is that he was no expert in the romance department. It had been stated over and over again, and Richie had even rubbed it in his face once or twice. Stan had never had to have a plan before, mostly because he had never fucked up this badly before.

 

“You have to think of something.” Richie said, sitting across from him at the deli. His sandwich remained untouched in front of him, far more interested in the conversation at hand.

 

Bev’s arms were currently crossed over her chest as she sat next to Richie, feet propped up in the spot next to Stan. “You didn’t like my idea, so Richie’s right. You’re going to have to come up with your own.”

 

“In his defense,” Richie finally picks up his sandwich, proceeding to bite into it like he hadn’t seen food in weeks. “Your idea kinda sucked. No wonder that stuff didn’t work out with Benny Boy, you’re a real player.”

 

Richie did have a point, Stan thought idly. Bev wasn’t really one to be taking relationship advice from in the first place. Any other time, Bev would probably snark back at Richie and say he was being a hypocrite, but Richie himself had managed to snag Eddie, who wasn’t here today because he was studying with Stan’s problem...Bill. Bill was Stan’s problem obviously.

 

“We get it, love guru.” Bev grumbles, taking a sip of her soda. “There’s always Patty.”

 

Stan shoots her a warning look before eating the last pita chip off of his plate, glad that he had correctly rationed the hummus. “Listen, I think we might be overthinking this-”

 

“Overthinking what?” Like some kind of guardian angel, Mike swooped in to pick up Stan’s plate. Earlier he had been cleaning some counters and Stan hadn’t gotten a chance to say hello, Mike clocking in after he ordered. 

 

Stan felt embarrassed all of the sudden, not really wanting to share his lovelife with anyone. Luckily, he didn’t need to, because Richie would always do it for him. That bastard.

 

“Stanny messed up with his boy toy,” Richie said casually, already halfway through his sandwich. Bev shot him a glare and Stan let out an indignant noise. “Okay, he’s having problems with his romantic interest. And we’re trying to figure out a way to fix it.”

 

Mike didn’t seem to impressed with the correction, but Stan could still feel the red rising to his cheeks and the tips of his ears as Mike stared at them. “A plan?” His brows were raised as he took Bev’s plate, adding them to the tub he had in his hands. If he did what he always did, which Stan knew he would, he would set the tub on the counter and grab a glass pitcher to refill Stan’s water.

 

“Yeah, I don’t feel like I need to explain what a plan is to you, Mike. You’re pretty smart.” Bev said as Mike did just as Stan had predicted.

 

Mike takes the compliment in stride, just like he takes every compliment that anyone had ever given to him. Stan can’t confirm that, but he’s sure that he can infer it just by the way Mike carries himself. “I know what a plan is.” Mike affirms with a laugh.

 

“And we need one.” Richie says plain as day.

 

Mike glances over at Stan, doubtful. Stan is still embarrassed and rightfully so, so he ends up just shrugging his shoulders and looking at where his plate used to be. He wrings his hands in his lap, a nervous habit he’s picked up. 

 

“I guess we need one.” Stan mutters, taking a sip of his newly refilled water. 

 

“Why?” Mike questions.

 

Stan looks up at him, a little annoyed, but the nerves were still there. “Because I don’t know what to do? Because I fucked things up tremendously?” He feels his voice getting a little louder, and Richie of all people give him a concerned look.

 

“I have an idea.” Mike says slowly, going to set the water pitcher back behind the counter. He’s still close enough to hear, but it’s obvious something else behind there caught his eye. “Why don’t you try talking to him?”

 

Well, Stan is floored.

 

Out of all the time he had spent thinking about it, the idea of just talking to Bill had never even popped into his mind. Maybe that’s what had been the issue...Stan was just too scared to talk to Bill. He thought everything had to be one big romantic gesture. Like in the movies. It’s Bill’s fault he thought this way anyhow, since Bill was a hopeless romantic.

 

He knew Bill was because Bill told him of the time he left sketches of a girl in her locker when he had a crush in middle school. He knew because Bill apparently wrote a metaphorically construed story for the first boy he dated that had parallels to all of their adventures. He knew this because Bill always went above and beyond for his romantic interests.

 

Not that he had necessarily experienced it first hand.

 

Bill had always talked about stuff he had done for his boyfriends or girlfriends in the past, but he never did any of that stuff for Stan. Probably never would. He didn’t think too much of it, because it was becoming clearer and clearer-

 

“He’s all inside his head.” Richie says to a concerned looking Mike. “It happens sometimes.”

 

Stan blinks. “What?”

 

“Mike could hear the gears grinding in your head.” Bev said thoughtfully. “Just worried is all.”

 

“So I have to talk to him.” It’s not necessarily a question, but it sure does sound like one. It’s filled with doubt and nerves and tension that Stan is used to in his own voice by now.

 

Bev gives him a sad smile. “Looks like it, babe.” Her hand reaches across the table and grabs his, her thumb rubbing at his knuckles. The gesture is so soothing that Stan almost feels himself relax after a few moments.

 

Stan glances over at Richie, who has that look of knowing on his face. For once, Richie Tozier is silent and his eyes say it all.

 

“Fine.” Stan sighs. He grabs his phone from his pocket, looking over to see if Mike was still watching. Someone had come in the door during Stan’s internal conflict, leaving Mike to work the register. He could do this without Mike. He didn’t need a whole team to make a stupid text to his stupid not-boyfriend.

 

**Stan:** I know you’re upset with me right now

**Stan** : And rightfully so

 

His anxious fingers kept pressing send before he could add another thought to his text. God, he hated when he did that. His fingers were just so jumpy.

 

**Stan** : If we could talk about this in person, maybe we can both get some closure

 

Stan knows that it’s the wrong way to word it. What had it been that Richie had said the other night?  _ You never really had him in the first place.  _ He can hear the exact tone Richie said it in in his head.

 

Stan never really had Bill in the first place, so there was no closure to be had. It was too late though, and the text was already sent.

 

“You know, maybe this will get you back on Eddie’s good side.” Richie says, a lilt in his voice. “I miss him at lunch.”

 

“This is the first one he’s missed, asshole.” Bev rolled her eyes. 

 

“Point.” Richie said, before seamlessly moving to his next thought. “So when are you shaking up with Patty?”

 

But Stan’s mind was far past that to even begin to state how insensitive bringing up Patty was. His mind was still focused on Richie’s boyfriend, with led him down a whole other rabbit hole.

 

Bill and Eddie were good friends. And so was Ben. He felt like he had been friends with all of them, but he supposes after this whole debacle, he wasn’t. It left an empty feeling in his stomach, because all of them had seemed to practically click from the beginning. It’s like if someone told him he couldn’t be friends with Mike anymore.

 

“Hello? Earth to Stan the man?” Richie is leaning across the table, waving a hand in front of his face.

 

Stan blinks at him again, owlishly. “What?”

 

“You’re phone went off.” Bev says, eyeing the lit up screen in Stan’s hand. It looks as if she’s trying to see the notification.

 

Stan practically drops the phone trying to unlock it. He curses read receipts and ever turning on the option to hide the messages from the notification screen. Technology, he had never understood the point, but suddenly he did.

 

**Bill:** fine. . tonite fountain by UC 7

 

The unintelligible string of words made Stan’s heart feel significantly lighter. No rejection, no worrying about Bill not wanting to work this out. Closure.

 

It looks like he was clearing his schedule for the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are nearing the end!!!


	11. take me home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "burned out flames should never reignite  
> but i though you might"
> 
> -home by daughter

Seven came far too quickly for Stan’s liking.

 

It was the one bit of courage that he could muster up and he was already regretting the decision of texting Bill. richie and Bev had been excited about his response, but all Stan could feel was his heart in his shoes. It had plummeted the second he had read the text.

 

No amount of Richie’s coaching or Bev’s kind words could prepare him for a face off with Bill Denbrough. Bill, who Stan had feelings for. Bill, who Stan had slept with. Bill, who Stan had unrightfully blew up at...Or maybe it was justified. He still wasn’t sure about all of that, but Bev didn’t seem to think his reaction was out of line.

 

Bev gave bad advice sometimes.

 

He spent the rest of his day dreading this moment at the fountain, and rightfully so. It was currently 7:01. Stan usually wasn’t too picky, even though he was very schedule oriented, but this was just sad. 

 

He was sitting on one of the stone benches by the University Commons, just like Bill had said. And he was all alone, obviously so, and he’s glad that the temperatures are dropping at night. If not, there may have been way more people milling about to see him sticking out like a  sore thumb.

 

Stan starts to think that maybe the whole thing is ridiculous. He shouldn’t have to sit around and wait for Bill. They should’ve done this back at Bill’s place, or heck, Stan would’ve ever offered up his. The deli seems like pretty neutral territory if neither of those would work.

 

But no, he would have to play Bill’s game to get through this one. 

 

In hindsight, he could’ve gone with his original idea. Just forget about Bill because he hadn’t been that emotionally invested. At least, that’s what Stanley told himself. He thinks Bill means more to him than he would like to admit out loud. The thought makes him a little queasy. How could a practical stranger mean that much to him?

 

But Bill wasn’t really a stranger either. He knows that Bill’s favorite pizza topping is pepperoni. He knows that Bill has always wanted to be a writer. He knows that Bill also draws in his freetime. Bill started memorizing quotes and reading classics obsessively when his parents lost interest in him when he was around eleven.

 

He hadn’t told Bill much about himself though.

 

Bill didn’t know that the last thing Stanley wanted to be was an accountant, that he actually had no idea what he wanted to do. He didn’t know that Stan’s favorite pizza topping was actually just cheese. He didn’t know that Stan’s parents had never lost interest in him.

 

In Bill’s defense, Stan wasn’t much of a talker. He was an avid listener instead, loved listening to Bill talk about just anything and everything.

 

But now he was sitting outside by himself, looking like he was getting stood up.

 

He checked his watch about every thirty seconds and scanned the area around him every fifteen. Luckily, none of the people that passed him were ones that they recognized. He told himself that he didn’t care about their opinions anyway, but deep down he knows he does.

 

His eyes apparently couldn’t keep up with the constant motion, because there was a tap on his shoulder that took him away from concentrating on some boy that was obviously not Bill walking across the quad. He jumped, turning around, and he already wishes he could get a do over. This was too much pressure.

 

“Hey, Stan.” Bill’s voice doesn’t stutter or even waver. It’s a tight lipped remark.

 

Stan is the one who is left speechless. It’s a feeling he knows all too well around Bill, he realizes.

 

The boy is standing there, beanie pulled firmly over his auburn hair and a jacket wrapped tight around him. Stan has noticed that Bill likes to pretend he isn’t bothered by the cold, but it’s obvious by the flush of his cheeks and the goosebumps on his short clad legs that he is.

 

Bill doesn’t seem as amused. “You said you wanted to talk?” He muttered.

 

“Do you want to go in-”

 

“I’m fine out here.” Bill interrupts.

 

Stan really didn’t understand why he even bothered Mike’s method of communication, because it seemed that Bill wasn’t even going to give him a chance. He’s glad he didn’t get his hopes too high.

 

“Will you at least sit down?” Stan says, and it’s almost too soft to hear over the breeze. “I just want to talk.”

 

Bill seems hesitant but nods regardless, taking a seat next to Stan on the bench. He’s taken a particular interest in the fountain, obviously trying to avoid Stan’s gaze. He isn’t too upset. Stan supposes it’s better than the alternative of him not showing up at all.

 

“So talk.”

 

Stan also supposes that he hadn’t exactly been prepared for this in any way shape or form. He didn’t even get a pep talk from Richie, Bev didn’t coach him through any scenarios. Hell, Stan felt that maybe he should of had some notecards prepared for the occasion. He could take the age old advice of picturing the person in their underwear, but that doesn’t really help when it’s Bill sitting across from him.

 

He pulls every lesson in peer mediation together in his brain to think of what to say. Talking. Bill and him didn’t do that very well.

 

“Last time we talked, I don’t think either one of us were being very fair.” Stan says levelly. “We both obviously had things to say. and we didn’t give each other the chance to say it.” His breath stalls a bit, hitches as Bill scrunches his brow.

 

“I was wrong.” Bill eventually says. “But you were too.”

 

Stan’s lip involuntarily quirks. “Really? About what?”

 

Bill’s demeanor shifts in that moment from something cold and distant to something a little more invested, a little more eager. Like what he’s about to say is some kind of big secret. “You weren’t just someone I liked to fool around with.” 

 

Stan wants to laugh.

 

“I’m being suh-serious.” Bill says, a wounded expression on his face. “Yuh-you’re different.”

 

“Different because I’m not out?”

 

Bill shakes his head, huffing a bit. “I’m sorry about that. I shuh-shouldn’t have a _ ss _ umed.” Stan shrugs, but Bill continues. “I just meant that you’re so in-in-independent and… Jane Eyre.”

 

Stan finally cracks a laugh at that one and the tension in the cold fall air breaks a bit. Bill could be so cryptid sometimes.“What does that even mean?”

 

“I am a bird; and no net ensares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.” His voice seems effortless as he recites the line from memory. He might as well have some kind of filing system up there that Stan could only dream of. “Yuh-you’re just so yuh-you. I don’t know how to explain it.”

 

“You can stop trying to flirt with me.” Stan says, despite the blush rising to his cheeks.

 

“I’m not fluh-flirting. I’m being honest.” Bill shrugs, his leg beginning to bounce. “It’s just hard to put it into muh-my own words.”

 

Stan has the sudden urge to...Well, fuck. He doesn’t know exactly what he wants to do. He wants to stop sitting on the opposite sides of the bench. His posture opens up a bit more, his shoulders relax a bit. He just wishes Bill would move closer.

 

“I get that.” He says, although it sounds like he’s lying. “I’ve never really been good with words either.”

 

Bill laughs humorlessly, it makes Stan a little uncomfortable if he’s being honest. “I’m yuh-usually very good with words.” He rubs at his nose with the back of his hand, avoiding eye contact with Stan altogether. “I’m a wri-writer.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Stan’s voice is soft.

 

The silence could be worse, he supposes. The bouncing of Bill’s legs seem to get more rapid, but it’s nothing too uncomfortable. In their short time of knowing each other, there hadn’t seem to be a lot of silences. Lots of sharing and talking, and the occasional silence had been comfortable.

 

Stan turns on the bench, looking at Bill’s profile. “Will you look at me?” 

 

The thing about Bill, that Stan has only slowly come to realize, it that he was very childish. Stubborn, even. Even when Stan thinks he’s asking for a reasonable request, Bill huffs petulantly. Stan doesn’t say anything more, because he knows if there’ is one thing Bill hates more than giving in, it Stan giving him the silent treatment. 

 

“Fine.” Bill uncrosses his arms, going to grip the edge of the bench instead. He turns almost mechanically, as if he had been suddenly turned into some machine, to face Stan. “I don’t get why-”

 

Stan is not exactly sure what came over him in that moment. It could’ve been whatever emotion had been bubbling at the back of his throat, or the cold, or the sound of the fountain, or the fact that he really, really, really liked Bill. He presumes it doesn’t really matter what the possible cause could be.

 

He kissed Bill.

 

It may have been the most confident and self indulgent thing he had ever done. He had just...leaned in and pressed their lips together. It was more awkward than he had intended, catching Bill midsentence. Their teeth clacked together and Bill was stunned, but it was only moments later that they gained some sort of semblance of a normal kiss. 

 

Stan’s hands were lost, laying at his sides. Bill, on the other hand, reached a hand to cradle Stan’s jaw on instinct. The distance on the bench is closed between them, and all of it just feels  _ right. _

 

They’ve definitely kissed in the past, although it had only been once or twice.

 

Bill pulls back from it first, however, and Stan is left kind of stun. Like a fish out of water with his jaw slack. He can’t believe he just did that. There is one thing that Stan is certain of and he feels like the whole world had just tilted on its axis.

 

Stanley Uris had never considered himself brave.

 

He was rational and honest and called his friends out on their bullshit. He would bend for them regardless, but he always snapped back to his original thoughts by the end. He never took the first leap, step, or kiss, for that matter.

 

“I see wh-why now.” Bill says a little breathlessly. He’s still close and Stan can feel his warm breath against his cheek. “Di-Didn’t know you had it in you, Uris.”

 

The tension dissipates and Stan can’t help but laugh. Bill joins him. The whole scene feels ridiculous, even moreso as a random student passes by them and throws a glance their way. It’s a little sobering.

 

“Do-Don’t you think we should tuh-tell your friends?” Bill says after his laugh quiets down.

 

Stan tilts his head at that, although the smile never really leaves his face. He’s wondering if it ever would at this point, because he’s far too enamored with the boy in front of him. Far too gone, he’s sure. 

 

“I told them like...a week ago, Bill.”

 

What he didn’t expect was a sigh of relief.

 

“I told Eddie after our first date.” He admits and he looks a bit embarrassed. Stan' just surprised by the use of the word date. “I’m really no good with secrets.”

 

Stan grabs Bill’s hand, a little braver than he had ever been before. Bill, although a bit loose-lipped and too assuming, has some sort of super power. Making Stan braver. Or maybe Stan did that by himself, he isn’t quite sure. It didn’t matter.

 

“Good thing there aren’t any secrets anymore then.” Stan replies easily, grasping Bill’s hand. 

 

Brave. He felt brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all that's left is the epilogue!! also my @ on twitter is now transuris but i'm kinda too lazy to update it

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me @stenbrouqhs on twitter! (updated 3/2/2018)


End file.
